


Twelve Fail-Safe Ways by Michelleypie

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Checkmated, F/M, Fluff, Incomplete, Romance, not mine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ron called the book he passed on to Harry "solid gold". Through a series of missing DH moments, you'll see why.





	1. Solid Gold

I own none of these characters; they're all the brilliant creation of JK Rowling and I'm just lucky enough to get the chance to play with them a bit. Thanks to Gracie for being my first beta - you're awesome - and to Ang, Whit, Sharon Juliet, Stephen, Laura & all the Hoopers for being the only people on Earth that understand my Potter obsession, because you share in it with me! I love you guys and I hope I can do our mutual love justice!

________________________________________________________________

As noon approached, early July sunlight peered curiously into Ronald Weasley’s room, questioning his desire to stay in on such a beautiful day. After all, if this were a couple of years ago, a day like today would be perfect for Ron to grab his Cleansweep and go see which of his brothers or Ginny would be up for a game of Quidditch.

Today he didn’t see the point. There wouldn’t be Quidditch this year.

Last year, he would have been beyond disappointed about that. This year, while it was disappointing, the thought didn’t upset him as much as the fact that he had been so close to being with Hermione in the past year and he blew it. He blew it for Lavender Brown, no less.

Well, maybe, given the timing and the state of things in the world around them, it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

Yes, maybe, if there was any bright side to all the horrible things that had been happening, it was that there was now a good reason for Ron’s delay in getting things going with Hermione. Now wasn’t the time. Ron didn’t soon forget how weird it was for Harry to kiss a girl in the middle of her crying. And, no, Ron knew it - the first time he kissed Hermione Granger, she wouldn’t be crying.

The first time he kissed Hermione Granger…now that was being awfully optimistic for someone who, in the course of a year, managed to almost have a date with her, ditch it to snog a girl he barely cared about for months, and temporarily lose her friendship to the point where he had to get himself nearly poisoned to win it back. The thought of managing to kiss his best friend – managing to kiss Hermione – was not something he should feel optimistic about anytime soon.

Yet, despite the fact he knew that she’d have to be completely mental to give him more than a second of her thoughts after all he’d done to her in the past year, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. He couldn’t let the memory of that one particular afternoon at the lake slip his mind…

________________________________________________________________________

In a quiet spot on the grass at Hogwarts, far away from the remaining visitors at Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry was gazing across the lake. Leaning against a thick tree a couple of feet apart from Ron and Hermione, who, even at a time like this, managed to fumble through one of her many thick books looking desperately for “more information,” he just sat, not saying much of anything. Just a few minutes ago, the three had talked rapidly about the upcoming year, and it seemed to have tired all of them out to the point that they just wanted to sit and relax.

Oddly enough, Ron felt a strange sort of relief about it. He needed time to process the many things that they’d already discussed. What else was there to say, anyway? Dumbledore was gone, they wouldn’t return to Hogwarts next year, Harry decided to ditch Ginny (which gave Ron an odd enough feeling in his gut without having to discuss it), and the three of them would be spending the next year or more on a hunt for Horcruxes with no clue as to where they should begin.

Silence was, most certainly, golden.

The only thing resembling a conversation was the occasional unspoken interaction Ron had with Hermione. When Harry would shift or look as though he were about to say something, Hermione, in her usual quest to get other people to share their feelings, responded instantaneously, managing to turn away from her book in order to shift her gaze to Harry in concern. Ron would give her a look to remind her that, if he wanted to talk, he would, and she didn’t have to press him for information.

She knew what that look meant.

Just like he knew exactly what she was thinking when she glanced anxiously over at Harry.

Then she would glance back down into her book and follow Ron’s unspoken advice.

No words needed to be spoken anymore; they simply knew each other that well.

After a while, the routine of trying to get Harry’s attention and failing got to be tiresome. The hum of the voices several yards away and the peaceful, lulling sound of the lake steadily moving also seemed to exhaust the three of them further. Ron followed Harry’s gaze beyond the water, staring at the sky innocently looking back at them as though none of them had a care in the world. Ron remembered previous years, looking out at the same landscape, his only concern being the fact that he would have a few weeks away from Hogwarts, from Harry…from her…

And then he felt it.

A very soft weight fell against Ron’s shoulder. He could tell right away what it was; could almost see the mass of Hermione’s soft brown hair from the corner of his eye without having to turn and look at it. Very slowly, he peeked to see that, much to Ron’s surprise, Hermione was now too exhausted to look at her book anymore. She had fallen asleep and had chosen his shoulder as her pillow.

Very careful not to stir her into a wake, Ron took a moment just to look at her. Yes, he could look…just as long as Harry’s gaze was fixed on the distant landscape and his mind was just as far away.

She looked so peaceful. The worry etched all over her face moments ago had drifted away and she looked as though she felt perfectly safe, perfectly content, lying there against him as they both leaned against the same huge tree trunk. He realized he could do that for her; even if it was just for a few moments of sleep, even if it was just because he was the person who happened to be sitting beside her - he helped to bring her to the state of tranquility she was now in.

A gust of wind blew suddenly, and Ron cursed it under his breath, hoping that it wouldn’t distract Harry enough to direct his attention to Hermione’s current position or nudge Hermione away from him. Harry seemed as oblivious to the wind as he was to the two of them, and it seemed that he, too, was drifting off to sleep. Hermione let out a bit of a whimper and her eyelashes fluttered very lightly, but she didn’t move otherwise. Her head stayed rested upon Ron’s shoulder, which was, for the first time, happy to be falling asleep.

Feeling a sudden impulse, Ron turned his eyes slowly back towards Harry. His body rested against the trunk of the tree across from Ron, his head down, his green eyes hidden under his closed eyelids, and he seemed to be getting the sleep he lacked the past couple of weeks. Ron was relieved at this; not just for the sake of seeing his friend get some much needed rest, but because his impulse could be put to action.

Carefully, Ron tilted his head down a bit, leaning his mouth onto the top of Hermione’s head. He could feel the soft, fuzzy feeling of her hair and smell the clean, soapy aroma of her shampoo. He closed his eyes and, very slowly, kissed the top of her head, taking it all in; the warm feel of her hair against his face, against his lips.

He had wanted to do that for months, for years; and here he was. He had to savor it while he could.

He sat back up, wondering if she’d noticed. Still lost in her peaceful sleep, she didn’t seem to have been aware that anything different had happened. Harry, too, sat in the corner, just as fast asleep as he had been before.

Ron turned his head back to Hermione, but before his eyes met her form against his shoulder again, he was distracted by two heads of red hair standing several feet away.

Fred and George.

In his state of delusion, he had forgotten that the pair had not yet returned to the shop. If anyone was going to turn up at the most awkward moment possible, it would naturally be them – even if they were only there for a few hours. They stood transfixed, their dragon skin suits the only salient feature that Ron could attend to in order to avoid their facial expressions.

They saw it.

They’d give him hell; he knew it. By the time Hermione would get to the Burrow, they would manage to let her know that, while she was sleeping, that absolute git Ron had decided to put the moves on her.

And, yet, there was something curious about their reaction.

They didn’t seem to be laughing at him.

Odd.

After all the jokes they made about Lavender, after all of the teasing they’d done to him throughout the years, they weren’t going to laugh when they caught him kissing his best friend while she was sleeping?

Yet, they weren’t serious, either.

They exchanged a look with him, almost congratulatory. It was the same look he’d seen in their eyes as they were planning the joke shop years ago and came up with an idea that got them excited. Then, Fred whispered something to George that made George enthusiastically nod, a mischievous, but not a menacing, smile on his face.

Ron gave them a look to ask what on Earth they were talking about when George gave him a thumbs up and Fred decided to break the “no teasing” ice by mimicking a kiss onto George’s head as they laughed. Ron looked to the side and found a pebble, which he roughly picked up and chucked in their direction. This prompted them to laugh even harder, and they walked a few feet closer.

“We’re on our way out, little brother,” George whispered, still fixated on Hermione’s head lying comfortably on Ron’s arm. “That is, unless you think you may need some supervision.”

“Piss off.”

“Is that what you say to your brothers you haven’t seen for months?” Fred taunted. “Good thing mum isn’t here.”

“Anyhow, carry on,” George said, smirking. “We’ll see you both at the Burrow. But I’ll have to tell mum to padlock your door. Precaution, you know!”

Before Ron could throw another pebble in George’s direction, the two had waved goodbye and walked off. Ron didn’t think he had the energy, anyhow. Besides, after Dumbledore’s funeral, there were more important things to worry about.

At just that moment, Ron felt Hermione’s eyelashes blink against his arm and saw her look up at him. Her gaze was dreary and sleepy at first, but after a few seconds she seemed to realize the position in which she had awoken. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, Ron, I’m sorry!” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s okay,” Ron assured her. “You were tired.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes, trying to use her hands to conceal how red her cheeks had become, but Ron knew red when he saw it. Especially in shades of Hermione.

“How long has he been sleeping?” Hermione asked, nudging her head towards Harry.

 

I don’t know, Ron thought, I was kind of busy watching you sleep and kissing you when you didn’t know it. Sorry.

“Just a few minutes, I think.”

“It’s about time he got some rest,” Hermione said, her face back to the state of concern it was in moments before. “It’s just…oh, God, Ron, I wish he’d just talk to us. He’s so…”

“I know. But, honestly, Hermione, do you expect him to start spitting out every thought in his head? Maybe he just wants a bit of peace.”

“Do you honestly think he has a moment of peace keeping everything to himself like that?”

Keeping everything to himself…

Because Ron knew nothing about that.

Ron never kept a single thing to himself. Ron didn’t feel safe concealing from Hermione that she consumed just about every waking moment of his thoughts. He didn’t know what it was like to find comfort in the fact that she didn’t know how many times the thought of snogging her senseless entered into his mind. He would have no clue how it felt to be kissing Lavender and wishing it was Hermione instead, hoping desperately that nobody would ever find out. Sure. Ron wouldn’t know about that.

“Sometimes…people don’t like to, you know, talk about things.”

He gave Hermione a meaningful look, the smallest part of him hoping that she’d know what he was thinking. She returned the look, her shiny brown eyes looking almost touched, and then looked away, seemingly embarrassed by the fact that she had caught on.

Ron didn’t need her to tell him she was feeling these things. He just knew her that well. They just knew each other that well.

________________________________________________________________________

“Pathetic.”

“Completely.”

Ron shook his head, his mind making a startled return to the present. His recollection of exactly how him and Hermione’s awkward “we’re talking about Harry, but we’re not” discussion continued was interrupted by the presence of Fred and George alongside his bed. He jumped up and pretended not to look as glum as he knew he did. The last thing he needed was the two of them finding him moping. That’d earn him weeks of unmitigated torture.

“It’s called knocking. D’you have to apparate everywhere?”

“Yes, Mum, we actually do,” Fred replied.

“Waste of time not to.”

“Speaking of a wasting time, we figured you’d been doing too much of it.”

“Sitting around…”

“…like a lovesick puppy…”

This was it. This was when he’d finally get what was coming to him since the incident on the Hogwarts grounds.

“Sod off,” Ron said, standing up and turning to leave the room, when Fred stood directly in his path, George following.

“Not so fast there, Lover Boy,” George said, putting an arm on Ron’s shoulder. “At least hear us out. As you know, our reputation with the ladies precedes us.”

“Yeah. But, well, don’t listen to Magnolia Baxin over at the Leaky Cauldron. I mean, that wasn’t us; probably another pair of astoundingly good-looking gents…”

“Or those sisters Sandy and Cindy we hired down at the shop. I didn’t exactly plan on dating them at the same time, but, being twins, they happen to look exactly the same; can you imagine the nerve? By the time I knew one was Sandy, I had almost called her Cindy, but then Sandy did this thing with her tongue…”

“Oi! Really! I don’t need to hear about this!”

“Pointers, little brother!”

“Yeah, well, as convincing as this is, I think I can handle myself.”

“Ah, yes. You certainly proved that by the lake,” said Fred with a grin. “Funny, George, didn’t the book say to do romantic things like kissing your girl on the head when she’s, you know, conscious?”

“Something like that, yeah. I think they also mentioned that making your move after a funeral isn’t exactly slick.”

“Shut up!” Ron shouted. Yet, his curiosity got the best of him and he took a minute to think. Which book were they talking about?

“The book also says that you should do a little with your hands, too, if you’re going to give one of those pecks,” Fred continued. “You know; play with her hair or some girly nonsense like that. Angelina loves that, you know.”

“Now that’s…” Ron stopped himself. This was starting to sound like it was going somewhere. “Wait, Angelina? Quidditch Angelina? Really?”

“Sure thing, mate,” Fred said. “You don’t think she’s gotten past that unforgettable night I gave her at the Yule Ball, do you? Well, fortunately for me, she’s away lots of the time at her job over in Egypt, but when she comes back, we relive a few happy memories, if you know what I mean.”

“And in the meantime, the book helps with everyone else,” George said.

“All right, what the hell are you talking about? What book?”

Fred and George exchanged smiles and looked back at Ron.

“I think he’s ready. What about you, Fred?”

“No time better than now. Merlin knows that I’d like nieces and nephews with some brains.”

If Ron weren’t so curious about the book, or so lost in the idea that someone other than himself saw the potential he had in being with Hermione long enough to have Fred and George’s nieces and nephews, he would have retorted. As it was, his mind was way too distracted.

Fred and George led him to the edge of his bed and sat on either side of him. George moved his hand to the inner pocket of the button down shirt he was wearing and pulled out a thin paperback book. Its black binding resembled Riddle’s diary, which made Ron shudder at the thought of the other Horcruxes he, Harry and Hermione would have to find. Then, when he looked at the cover, the gold and red lettering of the title seemed to shine at him, attracting his attention more than a Veela. The letters on the cover title looked masculine enough for Fred and George not to be embarrassed about owning it, but contained curls at their ends that were feminine enough to know that whoever designed it knew girls.

“Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches,” Ron read, thinking back to his claim that Hermione herself could write a book on the mad things girls do. He wondered if this would sound like Hermione’s know-it-all nature at all.

“And trust us, they’re fail-safe,” Fred said.

“Solid gold,” George agreed.

“I mean, don’t go by the one or two offsets we’ve had,” Fred advised. “Sure, we’ve gotten into a bit of trouble occasionally…”

“If you can imagine us being the sort to get into trouble…”

“But, basically, it works. It’s gotten us lots of second, third, tenth dates. Good stuff. Amazing what rubbish girls like, I swear.”

“Only try and tone it down for now,” George said, looking at Ron with what almost appeared to be a twinge of seriousness. “It’s fun to drive someone batty who isn’t mum. We’ve grown fond of Granger in that way.”

“Not as much as you have, obviously,” Fred cut in.

“So it’s best you stick with her. I mean, no more Lavender Brown types, then. Save those for us.”

“Is Lavender still single, come to think of it?”

“Trust me, you don’t need a book for Lavender Brown,” Ron said, turning the pages of the book and starting to skim through its contents. “Just snog her silly and she’ll be happy.”

“Wow. It sounds like you went through a rough ordeal with her,” George mocked.

“Dreadful,” Fred added.

“It may be a burden, but I think we can carry on for you!” George said.

“We?” Fred asked. “You’ve got your whole Sandy and Cindy nonsense to sort out.”

“Speaking of which, they’re bound to be a bit worried seeing as our lunch break ended fifteen minutes ago and we’ve got a dark wizard on the loose.”

“Right, then. Guess it’s back to business as usual. Then maybe some work if we can squeeze it in. All right, then, Ron?”

“What?” Ron asked, realizing again that Fred and George were in his midst after being lost for a moment on a paragraph stressing the success of complimenting a girl’s talent in dressing and decorating. Fred and George exchanged smiles.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” George said, and with a pop, the two apparated off.

Ron skimmed back to the front of the book and read with the sort of intense interest he never had in any other book he’d read before. He hoped to see the list of twelve in a place where he could study them all at once…

…and so he turned to the introduction and began mid-sentence.

…despite what you may believe, a wizard doesn’t have to be wealthy, powerful, or even handsome to win over the object of his affections!

 

(Ron silently thanked the author for clarifying that, for he firmly believed he was none of those things).

All you have to do is follow our 12 steps to winning over the witch of your dreams, listed here and described in each chapter to follow:

 

1 – Listen.

 

Well, okay, Ron listened to her. He listened to her go on and on about SPEW; didn’t get when she was ever going to understand that the house elves liked their lot and hated her interference. He heard her talk about all the studying she had to do all the time, even though she didn’t have to do it because, unlike him, she was the sort of brilliant that didn’t need to try so hard to be something better. He heard her and he let her know he heard her. Maybe not always in the most pleasant of ways, but, hell, she deserved it sometimes. Crazy about her though he was, Ron knew that she was a right little piece of work when she wanted to be.

2 – Let her know how you feel about her.

 

All right, well, there were eleven other ways. He could do without one for now…

3 – Surprise her with gifts and compliments she doesn’t expect.

 

She didn’t expect that perfume! He was on top of his game already! As for compliments, he was sure he’d given her loads. Didn’t he tell her how brilliant he thought she was? He must have mentioned that he thought she was pretty. He commented on her teeth that one time, didn’t he? Surely she put two and two together and realized he thought she was good looking, no?

4 – Respect her goals and dreams, even if they’re different from yours.

 

After all the times he’d listen to her gripe about tests, Ron was sure he must have done that. But then again, what were Hermione’s goals and dreams? He knew that she wanted to do well on every test, but there would be no tests this year. Where did that leave her? What did she want? Did she even want to get married? Did she want a family? Did she want to get into some competitive job field where she could show the entire wizarding world how brilliant she was and forget about Ron entirely? He could most certainly not respect that – couldn’t respect her choosing to be away from him, could he?

Well, he’d have to, wouldn’t he?

She was worth it…

5 – Don’t discuss the attractiveness of other girls in her presence without stressing that she is attractive first.

 

Oh, no…

The Yule Ball.

That’s why she stormed up the stairs! She thought that when he was talking about the ugly girls (trolls, did he call them?) that he was talking about her! How could a smart girl be so daft? Of course he didn’t think she was a troll! Would he be sitting here reading Fred and George’s book in order to impress a troll? How could she not know this?

6 – When you’re together, show that you know her and respect her feelings by doing what she likes and inviting her to things you enjoy.

 

Ron imagined his first date with Hermione involving the two of them sitting in the common room knitting elf hats and resisted the urge to giggle. He resisted it even greater with the realization that they wouldn’t be in the common room this year.

To alleviate the weight of the lump in his throat he read on…

7 – Show her affection whenever possible, no matter who else is around.

Showing Hermione affection; now that didn’t sound so bad.

But now that Krum had shown her affection, how could he compete? How must Krum have done this? As much as it pained him, Ron imagined Krum sloppily forcing his lips onto Hermione’s and felt the sudden urge to grab his Cleansweep, fly to Bulgaria and pummel him to the ground. But, then again, that wasn’t very romantic of Vicky, was it? Ron would do that finger in the hair thing that Fred was talking about. If it worked on Angelina…

8 – Make an effort to become friendly with the people closest to her, like family and friends.

 

Well, that was easy. Ron had met the Grangers on several occasions and had gotten on fine with them. As for friends, Ron and Harry were Hermione’s friends. It seemed that very few people appreciated how wonderful a person she was, and, even though Ron knew that some of her habits weren’t exactly pleasant, he couldn’t help but wonder why. In fact, thinking back to the way that Parvati and Lavender used to gossip about her and how pathetic she was, how sad it was that her only friends were two boys, one of which she was, as Lavender put, “obsessive about”, Ron felt angry at himself for not ditching Lavender on the grounds that she was completely foul.

He had to stop thinking about Lavender. This was about Hermione, after all…

9 – If she’s in a bad mood, allow her to blow off some steam before reacting.

 

Obviously, the person reading this book didn’t know Hermione. You just had to react to Hermione; she could be maddening if she was in enough of a mood. But, then again, Harry never seemed to lash out at her alone, and the few times he did, Ron felt a sudden urge to shove him. This was Ron’s job; it was him who kept Hermione in check, who made her stop and think about what she was saying and doing, not Harry.

10 – When she’s upset, the greatest comfort is a little bit of intimacy.

 

Ron thought back to third year when Hermione had tried to show Ron that bit of intimacy in the form of a hug. Of course, at thirteen, intimacy was a lot more intimidating, but, all the same, Ron wished he could go back to that moment and place his arms tightly around Hermione instead of having one to his side and one patting her head. He didn’t exactly make up for it in the years to follow, being the reason she was upset instead of the one who made her feel better.

Guilt piercing him like a rusty needle digging into his skin, he thought of all the times she’d run out on him and Lavender. He saw her every time, and, while it felt almost good at first to give her a taste of what he felt every time she shoved her contact with Vicky down his throat, he couldn’t help but feel a stabbing sensation of absolute discomfort and hatred for himself. He had done that to her – he wouldn’t wish that pain on his worst enemy and he had thrust it upon her, the one person he wanted to see happy.

This was getting a bit uncomfortable…

11 – Make her feel like the most beautiful creature that ever walked the planet.

But that’s not what made Ron love her so much.

Wait…he just admitted he loved her.

And, well, so he did. He loved her. Ron resolved to be certain about this point. And he didn’t love her because she was beautiful, although she was; she most definitely was. He didn’t love her because her looks surpassed everyone else’s, because, though he cared for her more than anyone else, he knew that they didn’t.

But she did.

She – body, soul, spirit, everything –was what he wanted more than anything. It wouldn’t matter if a million Veelas or Lavender Browns came around. Nobody else could be Hermione. Nobody else could possess him in the way that she did; could know him in the way that she did.

Surely Hermione wanted more than to just be another girl who got excited over being pretty. Surely Hermione was different; was smarter than that. He was positive she wasn’t fixated on the superficial things all of those other girls were.

Yet, maybe, that was just one of those crazy girl things. He’d have to reconsider that one…

12 – Be on her side.

He was…mostly.

Except for the times they argued and he was the opposing side.

Blimey.

This was not going to be easy.

Ron closed the book in frustration, flopped down on his bed, and turned to the dresser drawer alongside it. He opened the top drawer and pulled out the picture that Ginny had taken of him and Hermione two years earlier.

It was amazing; all the years they had been friends, and this was the only picture he had of the two of them alone. He looked at it whenever he could.

They were covered in soot from head to toe, giggling as they attempted to get all of it off. He remembered that that was just when they started clearing out Grimmauld Place, and they opened a cupboard door to find dust cascade out it and all over the two of them. Naturally, Ginny couldn’t resist the urge to capture this moment on her camera, and, despite the frustration of having their embarrassing moment photographed, neither one could stop laughing about it.

First, the two were looking in different directions, wiping dust off of their faces and bodies as they giggled and tried to turn Ginny’s attention away from them. Then, at one point, for a fraction of a second, they glanced at each other, and Ron had a feeling that, right then and there, he realized how much he needed her. This –working together, even on the most daunting of tasks, living in the same place, waking up and knowing she’d be there waiting for him downstairs – this is what he wanted.

And the picture, silly as it was, spoke volumes about the way that they now were. They’d stand covered in the dust and the grime of their own avoidance and the problems life kept bringing – but, nevertheless, they bore it together. They faced it as a team. That was enough to make them happy side by side, no matter what darkness engulfed them. He was on her side in more ways than any book could describe, and he always would be.

If only she knew…

But she must.

They knew each other that well.


	2. Family Matters

Rule # 8

Make an Effort to Become Friendly with the People Closest to Her, Like Family and Friends

Witches have a poor habit of complaining about the things they love most.

 

They’ll talk about how impossible their fathers are, they’ll vent about how, if they ever become like their mothers, you’ve got to hex them until next year, or about how their friends can be absolutely insane.

 

Don’t believe a word of it.

 

Unless her father really is the kind of git by all conventional standards that she claims he is, believe me, if she discusses his level of annoying to that extent, then she really worships the ground the man walks on.

 

Her secret ambition is to be exactly like her mother, and she takes hidden pride in the fact she’s inherited her common sense (or what witches believe to be common sense, at any rate).

 

If you say one bad thing about her friends, she’s bound to give you the “nothing’s bothering me” act discussed two chapters back for about five days, and then blow up at you when you least expect it.

 

Family and friends are extremely important to witches. They are at the absolute center of a girl’s life, and if you plan on being anywhere remotely close to that center, you’ve got to make sure you fit right in.

 

So, with this rule come a few basic sub-rules.

 

First and foremost, if she is fighting with her family, stay neutral unless the fight is truly so serious that you know she needs you on her side (for that, see rule # 12). Squabbles come and go, but the minute that you say anything negative about her family, it’s permanently out there in the context of her memory. Her family is ultimately her own, which gives her the right to say and feel however she wishes about them. You’re an outsider looking in, though. You have no place imposing your opinion on the nature of her relatives, particularly if you don’t know them as well as you may think that you do.

 

Secondly, be sure that, if she’s upset about family matters, that you honor her feelings and don’t disregard her concerns as being no big deal. An argument over who broke Aunt Linda’s wand may seem silly from outside the situation, but when you’re in the middle of a family feud it’s usually about much more than what’s on the surface. Do not second-guess her. Allow her to feel that pain or anger or whatever else may be plaguing her.

 

If she puts you in the inevitable corner where she’ll ask for your advice, turn it back on her. The line that never loses is, “Well, it’s your life, not mine. It’s what you think that matters, not what I think.” This is showing her two things. For one, you’re not choosing dishonesty or flattery; you’re merely letting her know that your opinion is secondary to hers. Secondly, it’s allowing her to know that you find her viewpoint important, and that you will be that guiding force enabling her to listen to herself. Witches need that guidance more than they’ll let on.

 

More than they’ll let on…

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione Granger stood frozen to the spot.

She glanced around the shell of what was her warm home, empty of the life that had always existed within it. She looked at the perfectly polished wooden furniture that surrounded her mother’s antique couches, which did not have their natural soft and appealing look. The pink and white patterned fabric that covered their cushions did not bring Hermione that homey sort of comfort that it always had before.

Maybe sitting on one of those familiar couches would make matters better. She needed a moment alone with her house - with her life away from the wizarding world - before she spent a year in the darkest pits of it.

Slowly sitting down in the middle of the sofa, she gazed at the wall unit piece that stood across the room; at the pictures she and her parents always loved to admire. There she was as a baby, innocently smiling, unaware of the frightening years that would lie ahead. There were her parents on their wedding day – a beautiful, autumn Muggle wedding. Hermione always imagined that, if she got married, she’d bring some Muggle elements to the ceremony just like her parents did. But, then again, she hadn’t yet seen a wizard wedding, so there was no means of comparison yet.

In a few weeks…

She turned back to a picture the family had taken when she was about ten. That picture always struck Hermione because, despite the smile that appeared on her face, she never missed the sadness hidden in her eyes. How lonely it had been back then. All the girls in school used to tease her for her bushy hair, buck teeth, and odd habits; for all the “freaky” things she used to be able to do, which she later identified as magic. And the boys really gave her hell. They used to write her fake love letters for a laugh. Oh, the names they’d call her! Bushy Haired Granger. Buck Toothed Granger.

Her parents told her they were jealous. After all, she was at the top of their class, the teachers loved her, and she could do things that other students couldn’t.

That was one of the greatest things about her parents. They knew there was something magical about her. They always accepted that she grew to be a witch, to go to a school like Hogwarts. There was the usual bit of parental worrying, naturally, but they let her march to the beat of her own drum. They always had.

And what was their reward for it?

Being led to believe they weren’t the greatest, most accepting and most understanding parents in the world. Being led to believe they weren’t parents at all.

She closed her eyes, thinking back to the events of the past few days.

Yesterday, she had gone to her parents’ bank. After taking out her own Building Society savings for the months ahead, she turned her attention to her parents’ accounts. She set out to be sure that they had enough saved up to set their affairs in order for the months – possibly the years - ahead. Being the successful and well-planned people they were, they did, but, just to be sure, Hermione ensured that all of the savings her parents had kept for her prospective University studies, just in case she sought to pursue more Muggle education, was added to their already ample savings account. With the help of some spells she had researched, but was advised in many classes never to use, she managed to transform the names of the accounts listed in the bank to Wendell and Monica Wilkins and made certain that their account would be accessible to them wherever they traveled.

Later that night, she made a few phone calls to secure her parents’ airfare to Australia, which she had ordered a couple of days earlier. She visited their new home’s previous owner she had met with three days before; the wealthy, elderly English gentleman who lived near her parents. He motivated Hermione’s choice in their final destination, for, in her desperation to find a place for them to hide, Hermione found his ad in the travel section of her local newspaper. He was trying to sell one of his many holiday homes in Australia. With the help of more magic that Hermione knew she was forbidden to use, Hermione enabled the landlord to happily sell his twelfth home to her parents for the discounted price of one hundred and sixteen pounds (which was the last of Hermione’s spending money left from her sixth year). She signed a few legal documents under her parents’ new names, took his key and was off to get an hour or two of sleep before the tasks that faced her the next day.

The next night – at about nine-thirty in the evening - she had gone to her parent’s dental office and placed several enchantments on their building as well as on their computerized database of patients. If she was successful, which she was certain she would be after all of the reading and practice she had done, all of their patients approaching the office with an appointment would suddenly remember that they had to change dentists temporarily, for the Grangers were away to take care of a sick relative abroad. The office would only be visible to its previous patients, and anyone who was not listed in their files would see a run down building instead. That way, nobody would think to sell the unoccupied space, which all the neighboring businesses would assume was always like that due to the nature of the enchantment.

It felt horrible; she never would have believed herself to be someone breaking so many rules.

She felt better at the notion that everything would be sorted out once her parents came back.

If her parents came back…

After she had gone home and sorted through all the sources of identification her parents had, altering all of the information on them accordingly, she set off to do what she was dreading from the moment she and Ron promised to join Harry.

Her mother and father were still sleeping once Hermione was done changing the names on all of their identification cards. It was an ideal time to act, because she knew that they couldn’t argue or try to change her mind. She also knew that if she had to explain herself, to tell them how much she loved them and how much she loathed doing this, it would make it harder to act.

She flicked her wand as she started the memory modifying enchantment that she had researched for the past week and a half. Then, after closing her eyes to prevent herself from glancing at them and changing her mind, she heard herself speak.

“Your names are Wendell and Monica Wilkins,” she shakily said. “You were once dentists but you’ve decided to take a break from your practice to go to Australia. You’ve always wanted to go to Australia. It’s your lifelong ambition. You’ve placed the address of your new home on the sheet that I’m about to put on your dresser.”

Hermione paused, biting her lip to prevent sobs from escaping in the midst of her enchantment.

“You…you have no children. It’s just the two of you. And you’re ready to spend as much time in Australia as you can. You’ve been saving up your whole lives to stay there for years if you really want to. You’re packing right now…”

Hermione turned her wand to her parent’s closet, where she charmed all of its contents into a pair of suitcases that sat on the far corner of the closet before Hermione cast them open. She then turned back to the two of them.

“Your flight takes off in a little over three hours. All of the flight information is on the second sheet on your dresser. You will wake up in five minutes and get ready to go.”

Feeling her hand shaking, she placed the key to the holiday home, the sheet containing its address, and the airline ticket receipt on their dresser. Then, she remembered her desire to remove any possibility that her parents would pass the living room and see her pictures…

“You’ll exit through the back door in the kitchen. The front is already locked and bolted; you won’t have to worry,” Hermione continued. Hermione quickly grabbed all of the photographs of herself that her parents kept on their dresser, and glanced at them. They seemed to be peacefully smiling at the prospect of their upcoming trip. She hastily hurried over to each of them, giving them a quick kiss on the cheek. Then, Hermione looked down at them, feeling her eyes getting watery. She had to tell them…

“And, well…if you had a daughter, which you…don’t…just know that she would probably tell you she loves you. She’d love you very much…”

With that, Hermione ran from the room, and hurried to her own, where she buried her face in her pillow and silently cried for the two minutes that she could. She kept still as she listened for the sound of her parents waking up and preparing to begin their journey abroad. She heard them happily talking, calling each other Wendell and Monica, and exiting, as she’d advised, through the back door.

She heard it shut.

Suddenly, she felt a pause in her desire to cry. She realized that they were gone – they would be away from all of this. They would not be in this house, here for Voldemort to find and to torture into giving him information. That had been one of her biggest fears, and it had just left the house along with them.

She sat up, feeling braver than she had before, and decided to take one last look around her Muggle room before leaving it.

It was just as neat and clean as the rest of the house. Its light, peachy-cream colors always gave her a sense of tranquility and peace. On her walls, she had Muggle paintings that she saw on some of her holidays with her parents. She had a few framed pictures of her with her family, but she remembered she used to have a lot more. They’d been replaced.

She looked at the pictures that took the place of her parent’s old photographs. There was a picture of her with Harry and all of the Weasleys last year right before school started, soon after she had found out that Bill and Fleur were engaged. Ginny was making a very forced attempt at a smile as Fleur fussed with her silvery blond hair, and, despite the tears that still warmed in her eyes, Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that. There was a picture Colin Creevey had snapped of her and Harry in the second year. Neither looked prepared for a photograph, their eyes glancing at the camera in surprise, but she liked the picture anyway. They seemed like any two kids in that shot rather than two kids destined for a life of problems. It used to bring her a sense of absolute calm.

Then, she glanced at the picture she took last year at the Burrow – the one she had taken with Harry, Ginny, Ron. They had just played Quidditch (well, the three of them had played; Hermione just made a sad attempt at playing), and they were standing together, holding brooms and smiling for a rare moment in the past few years.

That picture brought her so much joy in the midst of all the pain she felt last year that the first thing she did during the Christmas holidays was put it up. It didn’t matter that Ron had chosen Lavender Brown; it didn’t matter that he was acting like an absolute prat. Lavender couldn’t take this away from her; couldn’t take Ron’s arm off of her shoulder in this picture, no matter how often she snogged him.

She glanced at the image of Ron before her, at his bright red hair, soft blue eyes and lopsided grin. She observed how much taller he was than she, and how he had leaned his head in a little bit to narrow the gap between them.

She reached her hand over and touched his image, as though this would enable him to understand how she felt about him. She kept her finger pressed against the frame, wondering if she would ever get even the slightest taste of what Lavender got; if she’d ever get to know what it felt like to be completely entwined with him, just holding him beside her.

She’d only experienced something remotely like that once.

She thought back to the way Ron was with her at Dumbledore’s funeral, the way he held her so delicately and allowed her to cry in his arms, the way he gently ran his hands across her hair. She had never been comforted like that by anyone before. It was odd, but, despite the fact that she was sitting there and in a state of mourning, she remembered that she couldn’t help but thinking back to those boys when she was little.

“Hey, Robert, I hear you love Buck-Toothed Granger!”

“Oh, yes, Robert’s mad about her. Who wouldn’t want to be with Horse Teeth?”

“Sod off! I wouldn’t go near that beast if she were the last person on Earth!”

If they could have seen her, sitting there, being held and cared for by a man who was worth more than all of them put together…

…or, better yet, if ten-year-old her could have seen that…

…it reminded her of where she was supposed to be. She had to say goodbye and leave.

And that brought her downstairs, to the couch where she just sat and replayed the entire evening in her mind. She took one last look around at the only place that ever brought her happiness for the first eleven years of her life, and pondered for a quick moment whether she’d ever see it again.

Without allowing herself to get too attached, she walked outside, and, in the shadows of her back yard, cast enchantments on the house much like the ones she cast on her parents’ office. Nobody approaching the house would think anything strange about its abandonment; everyone would assume they were off with a sick relative. Bill collectors would be enchanted into thinking they were here for no reason because they received the Grangers’ check in the mail the week before. Hermione bit her lip over that one, but then realized that, without any occupancy and the mortgage fully paid, it wasn’t as if there would be many bills to collect in the first place.

With a final look at her home, and a final tear falling slowly from her face, she closed her eyes and Apparated, just like she said she would.

Perhaps due to her emotional state, she didn’t arrive outside the Burrow as she’d planned. Rather, she landed with a thud on the floor of the kitchen. Not even a fraction of a second had passed by when she felt the warm arm of Mrs. Weasley alongside her.

“Oh, Hermione, dear, are you all right?”

Hermione turned to Molly, who had a look of concern on her plump face as she gazed into Hermione’s wet eyes. It was probably very clear that she was, most certainly, not all right. Thankfully, at the moment, there was nobody there to join her, for, in the late hours of the evening, everyone must have been asleep except for Mrs. Weasley, who seemed to be washing dishes.

Mrs. Weasley was able to put two and two together, and gave Hermione a look of concern.

“Hermione, I think that it’s very brave to do what you did to protect your parents,” she softly said, rubbing Hermione’s back with her arm. “You did the right thing, you know, with…well, You-Know-Who. Don’t be ashamed. They will be so proud of you when they’re all sorted out.”

So Ron told her.

But how much had he told her? Certainly she wouldn’t be so supportive of her decision to send her parents off if she knew the real reason why she was doing it.

Mrs. Weasley helped Hermione off her feet and sat her down at the kitchen table. Then she hurried over to the cabinets to conjure up some tea and calm her down. Hermione noticed that, in getting Hermione to a seat and resuming her evening routine, Mrs. Weasley seemed to have lost a bit of her warmth.

Maybe Ron had told her everything.

“Sugar?”

“No thank you,” Hermione replied, thinking about how her parents, being the responsible dentists that they were, would always tell her to avoid sugar if she could help it. How would she be able to swallow her tea with this lump in her throat?

“Here you are, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, setting the tea in front of Hermione. Hermione thanked Mrs. Weasley and lifted the mug to her lips. No sooner had the tea reached her mouth when Mrs. Weasley decided to ask the question Hermione had dreaded hearing.

“So…Ronald tells me the two of you won’t be returning to Hogwarts this year.”

Startled, Hermione unconsciously let a bit of her tea squirt out of her mouth, missing Mrs. Weasley by inches. Perhaps this was just the distraction she needed…

“Oh, Mrs. Weasley, I’m so sorry! I’ll get a napkin…”

“Never mind that, I’ll get it later,” Mrs. Weasley said quickly, clearly not wishing to change the subject. “So, would you mind telling me why a witch as bright as you are would think of jeopardizing your future like this?”

How could she escape this one? There was no way. She could try to stutter her way around Mrs. Weasley’s questions or she could just be honest. The latter seemed to make far more sense.

“Harry needs us. It’s for something Dumbledore asked him to do.”

“Forgive me, dear, but why would someone as wise as Dumbledore take it upon himself to force the three of you away from your education? Perhaps Harry misunderstood.”

“I don’t think he did,” Hermione said, not meeting Mrs. Weasley’s stare. It was bad enough that she had to watch her own parents leave; it seemed now that she was inheriting a new mother that she wasn’t quite ready to have yet.

“And…well, that’s it, then? All the work you did, all the O.W.L.S you got, all the time you put into Hogwarts, and you’re just going to give it up?”

“For now,” Hermione said, glancing back at Mrs. Weasley cautiously. Then, she spoke the most hopeful thought she could think aloud, and it brought her tremendous comfort to do so. “Hogwarts isn’t going anywhere, though. Whenever Harry’s done what he has to do, we’ll go back and pick up right from where we left off. It’s what he wanted; McGonagall is sure to understand and let us back in.”

“So what you have to do won’t take that long?” Molly asked, sounding hopeful at last. “I mean, short enough so you could be certain Professor McGonagall will still be headmistress there? She is coming on in years, you know.”

Wow. Hermione hadn’t thought of that.

“I’m…I’m not sure. But, well, we hope so.”

Mrs. Weasley looked unconvinced. She tried to look tough and angry, which she undoubtedly was, but this was largely clouded over by the look of worry and concern that was etched all over her face.

“Mrs. Weasley, I’m…really tired. I think I’ll just…”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course, dear. Go on up to Ginny’s room; I have a bed ready for you and Ginny’s unpacked the trunk you left with us. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Looking defeated, Mrs. Weasley took Hermione’s barely touched cup of tea and put it in the sink as Hermione made her way upstairs.

She was approaching Ginny’s room when, suddenly, she felt an impulse.

She didn’t want to go to bed just yet. She had to see him first. If she lost the two of the four people in the world who always made her feel most comfortable in her own skin, she had to ensure that one of the remaining two was still in one piece.

Peeking to be sure that nobody was looking, Hermione quietly tiptoed in the direction of the attic bedroom. It had to be well after midnight; she had no idea if he was even still awake.

Knocking would be too much of a risk, as the house was in a most unstable condition and the vibration of one door would likely carry sound to the lower rooms. So, instead, she heard herself softly whisper his name.

“Ron? Ron, are you up? It’s me.”

There was a pause, and she heard footsteps from inside the room. They helped to relax the restless beating of her heart, and before she knew it, the door had opened.

There he stood, looking down at her with what looked like a combination of relief and concern. He was in pajamas that, like most of his clothes, were too small for him, showing a bit of his leg beyond his ankles.

“Come in quick,” Ron said, “Before Mum sees you. She’s on the bloody war path these days.”

Leave it to Ron to find humor in even the most sensitive topics.

She entered his room quietly and found it to be its typical mess, with shirts thrown here and there and his broomstick lying across a chair in the corner. It looked like he hadn’t changed his sheets in three years, despite the fact that, knowing Mrs. Weasley, they were changed a couple of days ago. Ron softly closed the door and, as soon as he did, Hermione couldn’t restrain herself for another second.

She flung her arms around Ron, holding him as tightly as she could, as she felt tears erupt out of her eyes like lava. She tried to be as quiet as possible before, much to her gratitude, Ron placed a silencing charm on the door so that nobody could hear her. As she continued to let out every last emotion that she’d bottled up over the past few days, she felt Ron’s arms encircle her and snugly tighten, as his head slowly leaned in over hers.

“I’m – so – sorry,” Hermione managed to say through her sobs.

“Sorry?” Ron asked, completely taken aback. He pulled back, easing his arms slowly off of Hermione and trying to look at her face and read her expression. Hermione’s gaze, however, stayed flat on the floor. “What are you sorry for?”

“For – being – like….like this. I’m not…I wish I were…”

“You’re fine,” Ron told her. “You’re more than fine. It’s amazing what you did for your parents. I wouldn’t be able to do what you did.”

“Oh, Ron, of course you would have. You’ve always been willing to…”

“Willing, yeah, but, blimey, do you think I can do magic like that? If I knew how to change bank accounts I wouldn’t be complaining about money all the time.”

“Ron! You’re not supposed to use magic like that for…”

“Relax, I was kidding,” Ron said, putting his arms around her again and leaning in to give her a squeeze. She allowed herself to laugh for a little bit, tears still running down her face, as he held her to the spot and rubbed his right hand up and down her back. After a moment or two, she looked up at him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ron said, smiling down at her, and then he stepped away. Hermione wished beyond anything that he wouldn’t.

“So,” Ron continued, trying his best to sound casual. “The plan worked out okay? No mishaps?”

“None that I know of. I’m going to call the past owner to be certain that they got there in the morning, but everything was set up fine, so I’m sure there’ll be no problem. And you?”

Ron rolled his eyes, gazing in the direction of the banging that came from the ceiling of his room.

“He’s no picnic.”

“Fair enough, but is it working? All those spells I taught you about?”

“Yes, his hair’s a light shade of red. Looks a little more blond at the moment, though.”

“Don’t worry, that’s normal,” Hermione said. “Ghouls take a bit longer to show the effects of these enchantments. Wait, why am I telling you this? Wasn’t all of this explained in Chapter 16?” Ron gave Hermione that look he reserved for all the times she was too involved in her studies.

“Hermione, do you really think I paid enough attention to know which chapter I was on? I just skimmed through the damn thing; it’s long enough as it is.”

“Well, it’s serving its purpose, no matter how long it is,” Hermione said defensively. “I’d like to see you attempt the spell without it.”

“I wouldn’t. I’d somehow manage to inflict spattergroit on myself for real.” He looked at her as if hoping she’d smile, which she attempted to manage, although her heart wasn’t really in it. It had been a long night.

“There we are. Hermione Granger knows how to smile; who’d’ve thought?”

“Oh, sod off.”

“Wow, Hermione Granger also knows how to use foul language! What are you going to do next? Shall I search you for firewhisky? Have you smuggled any in? Because after wrestling with that thing up there I could certainly use some.”

“Ho, ho,” Hermione dryly replied, although her smile did manage to grow wider. She heard another thud from the ceiling and contemplated how hard it must have been for Ron to have single-handedly attempted to cast those enchantments on the ghoul overhead. It made her think back to the one fear that still hadn’t escaped her mind.

“Ron, you don’t think…I mean, after all this, that Harry…”

“We’re going,” Ron said firmly, a blazing look in his eyes. “Harry will be Harry; he’ll try to stop us from going and getting hurt like he always does, but if he thinks that after all the blows I dodged from that ghoul that I’m going to sit in Hogwarts and rot away, he’s mental. And after all that you’ve done? He’d damn well better let us go.”

“Maybe if we tell him everything; if we let him know all that we’ve been doing to…”

“Hermione, you’re in no shape to do that right now. Look at you! You’re a mess!”

“Thanks, Ron. That makes me feel loads better.”

“You know what I mean!” Ron said, looking panicked that he had said the wrong thing. Then, he did something very unusual; he was looking up, almost as if he was trying to remember a fact for an exam and searching every bit of his memory to do it. He seemed satisfied with something he’d found, and then turned back to her. “What I meant to say was, I mean, you’ve had to go through a lot for your parents, and, well, I just don’t like seeing you so upset.”

Hermione felt the sudden urge to throw her arms around Ron again, but she stood frozen to the spot, contemplating what he just said. It was so sweet; he had never been that openly affectionate with her before.

But it seemed he misinterpreted her reaction with one of disgust, and searched frantically for the right words again…

“Not that you have no reason to be upset! Because, you know, families are important and, well, if you want to feel sad about your family…it’s…it’s your life, not mine. It matters what I think, not what you think. No, no, I mean…”

But before Ron could continue clarifying what it was that he meant, Hermione hugged him again, and, this time, reached up on her tiptoes to give him a soft kiss on the cheek before leaning her head into his chest.

“Thank you, Ron,” she said for the second time, at a loss for any other words that could show him how much he meant to her.

“You’re welcome,” Ron said into her hair. It seemed like he was almost tempted to try articulating his message properly again, but he settled for holding her – yet again- until she pulled away.

“I’d better go downstairs before your mum finds out I’m not there,” Hermione said, not wanting to do anything less.

“Good idea,” Ron agreed unconvincingly, and he gave her one last smile, although she hoped that he would hug her just one more time. She didn’t want to push it; after the Lavender fiasco last year, who knew how he really felt?

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, quietly retreating out of the room.

“Night,” Ron replied softly.

The light from Ron’s room slowly faded away as Hermione quietly and carefully made her way down the steps. As she entered Ginny’s room and heard the silent sound of Ginny’s breathing, she tried her best to remember the feel of Ron’s arms and the smell of his hair, like she so often did when she was having a bad day. It almost made her think, for a fleeting moment, that they were back to the way they were years ago, before Lavender, before dropping out of school, before watching more and more people die - before everything became so complicated.

She lay in bed, thinking about her parents, thinking about Ron – about how sweet he had been, about how eager he was to make her feel better, and the thoughts kept ticking on and on like a faucet dripping until it lulled her into a deep sleep


	3. Spill, Spell or Sip?

B/N: Due to some of the content in this chapter, Michelleypie and I have changed the rating from PG-13 to R per Checkmated’s rating guidelines.

 

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Rule # 5

 

Don’t Discuss the Attractiveness of Other Girls in Her Presence without Stressing that She is Attractive First.

I know what you’re thinking – I don’t have to read through this chapter because the title tells me all I need to know. Easy, right?

 

Wrong.

 

Dead wrong.

 

It’s funny; wizards seem to have some basic understandings of this rule at the beginning of their quest. To help you all avoid making the same mistakes many others have made, I’ll discuss some common errors in thinking here.

 

Misunderstanding #1: Well, naturally, this is only talking about calling other girls pretty. You’d have to be a daft idiot to call another girl pretty in front of your own girl; I’d never do that, so I’m cleared.

 

And now your witch is off with another guy. Congratulations mate!

 

This, most certainly, is not limited to talking about girls who are attractive. When you start saying other girls have too many pimples, need to lose some weight, are poorly proportioned or have bad teeth, then be warned – your witch in question will automatically start using skin cream, go on a strict diet, find clothes that even out her curves and see a new dentist unless you clarify that none of those things apply to her.

 

Why? Girls are competitive. They may pretend not to be – many witches do. However, girls can not hear about an opinion regarding another girl without thinking about how that opinion carries over to them.

 

So if you’re out to call another witch ugly, make sure that some variation of “nothing like you, of course” enters into the conversation.

 

Misunderstanding # 2: So, basically, girls don’t want me to ever mention that anyone is attractive. I should just never talk about other girls. Ever.

 

Surprisingly, wrong.

 

It’s unnatural for people not to mention standards of attractiveness. It will only make the situation more awkward if you and your girl are in a group and someone else asks what you think of that really pretty new singer or your stunning waitress.

If that happens, do not avoid the situation. Avoidance may as well be telling the object of your affections that you most certainly find that singer or waitress prettier than she is, which is why you’re trying to dodge the opportunity to give your opinion.

 

The best answer? That depends on how pretty the waitress or singer is.

 

If she’s pretty, then don’t pretend she isn’t. Girls are most certainly not stupid. If you pretend not to notice, they will just think you’re dishonest and won’t believe it when you compliment them. Simply say she’s attractive, but focus on one feature that your witch has that she doesn’t. For instance, if the pretty witch is blond and your girl is a brunette, say that she’s very pretty, but you prefer your witches’ dark hair far more than the pretty girl’s blond locks.

 

If she’s not so great, you can say, “She’s not bad. (Insert your girl’s name here) is much prettier, though.”

 

Misunderstanding # 3: If she starts the conversation, then I’m safe, because it’s not like I brought it up.

 

My sad friend, you couldn’t be more wrong.

 

Girls have a habit of initiating comparisons between themselves and other witches. In this case, if the girl begins this lovely conversation, you disregard what you read about loose honesty. Girls don’t want to hear honesty when they are the initiators of this conversation. Girls want to be complimented when they start this; they want to hear that they are beautiful, that they are not fat (which seems to be a universal – never even suggest your witch is even remotely chubby in any way, even if she’s enormous), and that you only have eyes for them.

 

So, a basic rule of thumb – if your girl starts the comparison, flatter them endlessly. If someone else does, follow the rules established in number two…

 

Ron slammed his book shut and tossed it back in his desk drawer.

Rules changed based upon who started the conversation? How the bloody hell was he supposed to remember all of this?

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, I asked you ten minutes ago to get down here and help your father with the gnomes!”

And, naturally, reality just kept kicking in.

Hermione had been at the Burrow for three days and he had barely gotten a chance to speak with her. His mum had had them both working like a pair of house elves on one tedious task after another to assure that the Delacours would be perfectly happy with the place.

Things weren’t even so bad the first day. Sure, they worked, but his mum had at least been a bit more pleasant to the pair of them with the company of most of the Order there at one point of the day or another to witness her behavior. Now that Bill, Lupin, Tonks, Mad Eye, Kingsley and all the other members of the Order spent most, if not all of the day, away from the Burrow on top secret Order business, Ron’s mum had no excuse to mind her manners more than usual. It also didn’t help that there were now significantly fewer people left to attend to the chores. It was just him, Ginny, Hermione, and, on their days off, his dad and the twins. On this particular day all three had a day away from work, which Ron figured was probably why he managed at least a few minutes away without his mother noticing immediately.

What made matters worse was that she kept pressing Ron and Hermione for information about their upcoming journey that they were unwilling to give. Annoyed beyond belief about this, she did her best to stop them from discussing it amongst themselves by assigning them both to as many household chores as she could.

Even worse, some of her tasks made no sense whatsoever. They had just degnomed the garden a few days ago. How bad could it have possibly been?

“All right!” Ron shouted. “I’m coming!”

He hurried down the steps, trying to decide between when he should flatter Hermione and when he should manipulate honesty to make her feel better. As he got down to the kitchen, this was temporarily cleared from his mind when he saw his mother looking irate, her hands on her hips, glaring at him as though he had just committed a felony of some sort.

“What have you been doing?”

“I’ve…well, tidying.”

Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes and Ron knew he’d done it.

How on Earth was he supposed to follow rule #5? He couldn’t even lie properly to his mother.

Tidying.

As if he’d ever.

“You know perfectly well you weren’t!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “I don’t ask for a great deal – just a little bit of cooperation! You would think that maybe I’d get it every now and again! I can’t believe…”

And she went on, Ron only catching bits of it. Growing ever more immune to his mother’s tirades, his mind drifted elsewhere.

What features did Hermione have that he could claim girls like Fleur or Lavender lacked? Bigger hair? No, that didn’t sound good. Girls didn’t tend to like the word “bigger”, or so he’d assume. Although it wasn’t entirely a lie; Hermione did have bigger hair. Bigger, softer hair. It was sort of an acquired taste to him. It looked almost funny at first but, once you got to know her in the way Ron did, all you wanted to do was just run your hands through it and get lost in it, or hold all of it back so you could see a clearer view of her all too often hidden, pretty face while you got to feel how completely soft it was in your hands…

“ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!”

Ron was awoken and turned his attention back to his mother, who looked so steamed you could likely fry an egg on her forehead.

“Yes,” Ron lied.

“No you aren’t!” Mrs. Weasley insisted.

He was the worst liar ever.

What would he do if, say, Harry decided to be a complete git one day on their Horcrux mission and ask Ron about a Veela to lighten the mood?

No. Harry would never be that stupid. He knew Hermione better than that.

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

“I’m going!” Ron said, hurrying in the direction of the yard. Before his mother could retort, he narrowly escaped the kitchen and headed outside.

Just as he imagined, it looked as if there was next to nothing to do. There were just one or two gnomes. In fact, he didn’t even see his father there.

He heard the sound of banging metal and objects being moved around, and looked a bit further off to a shed where he imagined his father was probably working on another one of his inventions. He smiled to himself. Obviously he wasn’t the only one who needed a break.

He had taken a few gnomes and went through the process of tossing them out of the yard by their feet as he had done so many times before. As he had a particularly difficult time with one, he realized that, with his plans for the next year, it may be a long time before he had to do any of these chores again. Maybe that was the good thing about being away for so long. It’d just be him, Harry and Hermione, fending for themselves, not being scolded like a set of children. As frightening as the whole aspect seemed, that part of it didn’t seem so bad.

After a few moments, much to Ron’s dismay, he saw his mother angrily storm out of the house, Fleur walking beside her holding a large package and looking frantic.

“Well, it appears we have a problem,” Mrs. Weasley said, clearly hoping that Ron’s father was right beside him. She then turned to Ron curiously. “Wait, where is your father?”

In an effort to protect his dad from injury, Ron decided to put greater effort into his dishonesty.

“He had a problem with a fussy one…kept running off and escaping.”

“Right,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking only mildly convinced. “Well, apparently Fleur and I have to Apparate to the dress shop.”

“Eet iz simply ‘orrible!” Fleur said, looking down at the packaged gown in her hands in disgust, although Ron seriously doubted that a dress could possibly look horrible on Fleur. She could likely wear Dobby’s ensemble and wind up looking gorgeous in it.

No. He couldn’t think like that. Then he’d have to think of how Hermione would look in Dobby’s clothes and that would just be too funny to lie about without laughing…

“What happened?” Ron asked, trying to change the subject.

“They’ve placed the wrong enchantment on Fleur’s gown,” Molly explained. “Now it makes everyone around her ugly, which is just the opposite of what she wanted.”

“Just have Ronniekins stand next to her; nobody’ll know the difference.”

Mrs. Weasley jerked her head around to where Fred and George were standing in the doorway, grinning at Fred’s joke.

“And don’t you two start!” Mrs. Weasley demanded. “We’ve got enough trouble without…”

“Trouble?” George said. “Us?”

“We’re just trying to lighten the situation, mum,” Fred said. “I mean, you can’t get much worse than he is already!”

“Shut up!” Ron said, tossing the gnome in his hands away with such force he even startled himself.

“Anyway, we’re off,” Mrs. Weasley said. “And when I get back,” she stopped for a moment to glare at Ron, and then the twins, “This place had better be in tip top shape!”

With a pop, the two witches disappeared. There was a pause, and then Fred and George exchanged grins.

“You, Fred, are brilliant.”

“Well, George, you’re the one who did the enchantment. I just tweaked it a bit.”

“What are you on about?” Ron asked.

“Fred and I have been doing some research, you see,” George said.

“It turns out that enchantments on a dress are pretty strong.”

“Right; that’s no typical joke shop stuff, you know.”

“So we figured we’d play around a bit; see if we could get Mum a reason to get out of the house…”

“…for hours…”

“…which is precisely what that enchantment’ll do. We tested it on Mum’s old wedding dress. Took days for us to fix it, which means the dress shopkeeper will probably take a few hours to do it.”

“Hang on,” Ron said. “How did you do that? I thought the enchantments don’t work unless you actually wear the clothes?”

“It turns out I’m quite the blushing bride,” Fred said, curtseying. Ron had to laugh at the thought of Fred parading around in his mother’s wedding dress.

“Brilliant!” he said, walking away from the gnomes.

At that moment, Ginny and Hermione ran out of the house excitedly. The two looked completely exhausted.

“You two are life savers!” Ginny said in exasperation, looking exhausted. “Mum had Hermione and I making favors. If I have to look at one more flower…”

“That’s pretty advanced magic,” Hermione said. “Even your mum couldn’t undo it.”

“Thank you, thank you!” George said, taking a bow. “Well, with Mum out and Dad completely oblivious in there with that clock he’s working on, I’d say we take the chance to have some fun. Who’s interested in a bit of a break?” Ginny, Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous looks.

“What sort of a break?”

“We’ll show you.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“All right, Ginny, spill, spell, or sip?”

Ron could hardly believe that, just weeks before going on what would be the most dangerous journey he had ever encountered, he was sitting here in Fred and George’s old room with the twins and Ginny, beginning to feel a slight effect from firewhisky after playing several rounds of Spill, Spell, or Sip.

Even more so, Ron couldn’t believe that Hermione only vacated the premises four times in the past hour.

He knew she didn’t entirely approve of the game (or approve of it at all, more like), but, considering all the work they’d all done, she decided to keep quiet about it and just play along as long as Fred and George offered to do a sobriety charm on everyone who had partaken of firewhisky in the end.

Ron also imagined she took advantage of the opportunity to get their supplies ready for their upcoming Horcrux hunt without anyone paying much attention to her absence.

In order to get some packing done, Hermione slipped out of the room every other turn, which did give her some time to play. She never chose the sipping option, which didn’t surprise Ron; he knew that she probably wasn’t one to drink. She liked her mind completely stable at all times, especially with the tasks she set out to do while leaving the room. She had only gone twice, and the first time, Ron couldn’t be more grateful to Ginny for asking Hermione for her dress robe size instead of asking about her first crush or kiss or anything girly like that. Ron didn’t think he could bear to hear the answer. The second time, after dodging the question of where she had been every time she left the room, Hermione chose “spell”, and Ginny obliged by making her hair stand up on end for two minutes straight. Ron had to restrain himself from laughing with great effort.

What relieved Ron even more was that when Hermione stayed in the room, she asked him the tamest questions possible; what was his favorite color? How old was he when he started liking Quidditch? This resulted in jeers from Fred and George and giggles from Ginny, but Ron couldn’t help but be grateful to her for it. In the meantime, when Hermione had left the room, Ron was certain to take advantage of his opportunity to choose the sipping option. He felt he needed to catch up on the fun everyone else seemed to be having.

Hermione was out of the room again, so Ron knew it would be his turn next and Ginny would be doing the asking. He watched in anxiety as Fred made Ginny sip the firewhisky for three seconds, wondering what Ginny would ask him after the effects of her many sips had kicked in. Then again, for a small girl, she seemed to be able to hold her drink quite well.

“All right, then, since Hermione’s mysteriously disappeared again, Ron,” Ginny said, wiping the excess firewhisky off of her mouth. “My question is…hmm…have you ever kissed Hermione?”

Fred and George grinned maliciously at Ron, knowing the answer to this question. They would not.

“Oh, yes, Ron, do tell,” Fred teased.

“We’d all love to have a heads up,” George added. The two of them laughed as Ron grabbed the firewhisky bottle.

“SIP!” He shouted, and took a long swig of the firewhisky just as Hermione walked in.

“RON!” she said, then turned to Fred and George, who were laughing. “What did you ask him?”

“Oh, it wasn’t us,” Fred said. “It was our dear sister, here. Why don’t you tell Hermione what you asked him, Ginny?”

“Ron, it’s your turn, now,” Ginny said, turning red. Hermione seemed to have caught on, turning equally as flushed.

“Fine,” Ron said, the firewhisky burning his throat as he seeked out a bit of vengeance on his brothers. “Fred – have you ever tried to find out information on any of the many blokes our sister has seen?”

“Hey!” Ginny said. “It’s only been three!”

“Sip,” Fred said, looking disgruntled. Ron smiled to himself, knowing darn well that Fred and George made it a point to find out as much as they could on all of Ginny’s suitors. All except Harry, that is, who wound up being the one person who ditched her.

But he couldn’t think about that.

He hated the feeling of wanting to do something hurtful to his best friend on his sister’s behalf.

“Are you kidding me?” Ginny asked, breaking Ron’s unpleasant thoughts.

The book was right. Dodging was just as good as confessing.

“Well, do you blame us?” Fred said. “I mean, Michael Corner?”  
“That’s not exactly fair,” Ginny growled, reaching for the firewhisky bottle and ignoring Hermione’s disapproving sigh as she took a quick sip. “If I had to research all the girls you two have seen, I’d have to study for years.”

“Hey, it hasn’t been that many,” George innocently lied.

“Oh, sure, not that many – if it’s not, then name them all!”

Ron started wishing he hadn’t asked the question that he did. The last thing he needed was to hear how little experience he had in comparison to his brothers. He turned to Hermione to see if she looked equally uncomfortable about this, and it seemed she did, for her eyes were fixed in her lap and she seemed to be pretending not to listen to the conversation, although it was clear that she was.

“Alright,” George said. “Well, there was Katie Bell…”

“Katie Bell?” Ginny asked in surprise, “Are you serious?”

“Yes, in fact. Katie Bell, Agatha…something, Lucy Reyes, Justine…you know, with the nose…”

Oh, no.

They weren’t going to do this to him.

They weren’t going to put Ron in a position where he had to put the book to use. Not after he just had that huge sip of firewhisky and his better judgement was already questionable.

Should he start now, or just look in his lap like Hermione?

“What about her nose?” Ginny asked. Hermione suddenly looked up from her lap.

Typical.

“Well, you know, it was a bit on the larger side.”

“That’s terrible!” Hermione exclaimed, and everyone turned to her with surprise. “Justine’s that Ravenclaw, right? She was at the top of her year! Aren’t there more important things to care about other than her nose? Besides, how would you like it someone started talking about your noses?”

“Someone wouldn’t. Our noses are fine,” Fred said.

“And so is yours, Hermione, so don’t worry so much,” George added, looking to Ron as if he should have been the one to say it first. Hermione persisted, however.

“It’s not about my nose!” Hermione insisted. Ron suddenly felt relieved. Maybe the book wasn’t always right. Maybe Hermione was beyond all that stuff. “I mean…” she looked at Ron, almost as if checking to see if he was looking at her nose, then back at the rest of them. “Is this …you know…all you have to discuss about girls?” She gazed at Fred and George, who were looking down at Ron in anticipation. “You just care about their noses?”

“Well, basically, yeah,” Fred said, obviously enjoying his ability to drive Hermione crazy.

“If their noses are big,” George went on.

“Which yours, Hermione, is not.”

“Quite a lovely sniffer on you, actually. Right, Ron?”

“Fred!” Ginny whispered, punching him lightly on the arm. Ron turned a deep shade of red to the point where his face almost matched his hair, and, unable to look at Hermione, he quietly decided to come up with an answer.

“Right.”

It was quiet for a moment, the awkward pause between the five of them adding an unpleasant vibe to the room, until Fred spoke up.

“Hermione…you know, you’ve missed several turns.”

Ron gazed up at Fred in horror. He knew it wasn’t even like Fred to be this tactless, but he assumed the firewhisky had something to do with it.

“Leave her alone,” Ron demanded, and Hermione looked appreciative.

“Oh, come off it, Ron, it’s just a game,” George replied.

“It’s all right, Ron,” Hermione said kindly. “I think I can handle a question.”

Ron doubted it, especially if it was the sort of question one of them would ask.

“There you go,” Fred said. “All right, Hermione. If you could snog the pants off of any bloke in the world right now, who would it be?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Ron insisted. Hermione turned to him nervously, almost as if she didn’t understand what he meant by that.

Ron looked over at the twins furiously, who were grinning maliciously at him. He noticed that even Ginny was trying to hide her smile and look annoyed at the twins, but she couldn’t do it. In fact, it looked like she was giggling.

Ron cursed firewhisky in his head.

He looked back at Hermione, almost ready for her to get up and storm out of the room. However, she gazed determinedly at Fred and George.

“Sip,” she quietly muttered.

Everyone gazed in absolute surprise as she picked up the firewhisky bottle and took one long swig.

“Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. She set the bottle down, squeezing her eyelids shut as if the sip caused her physical pain, and jumped up, looking as though was about to be sick.

She ran out of the room and, before Ron could follow her, she slammed the door shut behind her.

“Brilliant!” Ron said angrily, rounding on Fred and George. “What the bloody hell did you do that for?”

“To give you your chance, mate,” Fred said.

“Make you all chivalrous.”

“You flat out missed about forty opportunities to be chivalrous before that. I mean, we had to make it obvious.”

“With us being such gits you’d have to stand up for your woman’s privacy.”

“Shut up, the pair of you,” Ginny said, standing up. “That was completely insensitive!”

“Which is why you laughed,” Fred said.

“I did not!” Fred and George glanced at Ginny, unconvinced. “All right, then, I did. But it’s only because…I mean, it’s just…” she looked at Ron uncomfortably, as if the words were on the tip of her tongue but she was afraid of saying them. “Oh, come on, we all know who Hermione would want to snog!”

Ron didn’t even ask her to clarify who that was, because the thought that it could be any person other than him made him feel as ill as Hermione probably did.

Hermione…

“I’m going to see how she’s feeling,” Ron said, hurrying out of the room. He headed in the direction of the bathroom but saw that she wasn’t there.

Did she fake it?

He headed in the direction of his bedroom in the attic where he knew Hermione kept all of the things she was thinking of packing. She must be in there. She must still be working.

And sure enough, there she was, sprawled out on the floor in the midst of the massive pile of books she’d been looking at for days.

You wouldn’t have guessed that anything happened, that she’d been asked an uncomfortable question, had a huge gulp of firewhisky, or anything of the sort. You’d think she’d been there all day.

He approached her slowly, hoping that she’d start the discussion first. She pretended he wasn’t there, although he was pretty sure she knew he was.

“Hermione?”

“Ron, good, you’re here. I do need some help getting things together. Could you please look through some of these books?”

She was going to play this game, then.

Ron didn’t know what to do; if he should carry on as if nothing happened or if he should take the book’s advice and be certain she knew that he had no problem with her nose.

“All right,” he said, thinking harder as she avoided his gaze. He took a few books and didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to their titles as he started going through them.

“You’ve got to fix this,” Ron thought. “They started the conversation about other girls and wanting to snog and experience…you can’t just let it lie. She’ll tear it to shreds and rip you apart for it.”

“Hermione?” Ron asked, feeling braver than he knew he should have.

“Yes?” she asked in a brisk manner.

“Are you…I mean, you’re not...”

“I’m fine, Ron.”

Oh, no.

He remembered that, according to the book, the words, “I’m fine” meant that someone was about to be pummeled – likely the one to whom the “I’m fine” was addressed.

“No, you’re not.”

Hermione slammed one of her books down, gazing furiously at Ron.

“And how would you know how I’m feeling, Ronald Weasley? If you’re such an expert, why even bother asking?”

This was scarier than Ron thought.

“I’m not!” Ron said, trying not to sound as petrified as he was. “It’s just…I don’t know, you ran off and you…I mean, you drank firewhisky. That’s not exactly you.”

“Oh really?” Hermione continued manically. “And what am I, Ron? Just a decent nose, huh?”

She had to bring up the nose.

The book knew what it was talking about.

“No, no…”

“Or do you discuss teeth or hair instead? Tell me, what other sorts of absolutely asinine things do you and your brothers discuss when it comes to girls?”

“We don’t!” Ron exclaimed, alarmed at the fact that she brought up teeth and hair, both of which he knew she’d been teased about before. She didn’t think he discussed them with anyone, did she?

“Oh, really?” Hermione asked. “Never? Not once?”

Ron had just put himself in a corner. He had dodged the topic instead of clarifying that he really had no problem with Hermione’s nose at all. In fact, he loved the shape of it. There was something cute about the way it wrinkled when she was mad like she was now. Sure, Hermione herself was altogether frightening, but if he focused on that one small part of her, it wasn’t so bad.

“Look; I mean, yeah, okay, maybe we’ll talk about stuff like that sometimes, but not that much, Hermione. Harry and I – we never discuss…noses or hair or any of that…”

“Congratulations. Do you expect a medal of honor?”

“And if we did,” Ron continued, not even stopping himself before the words came slipping out of his mouth, “Harry would likely tear the mickey out of me, because I’d have to go on about how bloody cute your nose is. Happy?”

He did not just say that.

He did not just use the word “cute”. Oh, if Fred and George heard him, they’d have the grandest field day.

He cursed firewhisky a second time. The Fat Lady was right a few years back. Abstinence was looking better and better at each moment.

Hermione seemed equally surprised. She turned to him in what seemed to be absolute shock, but, still, looked rather pleased. She giggled out her discomfort.

 

Never mind.

Maybe firewhisky wasn’t so bad.

“Oh, come on, Ron, you don’t have to…”

“It is,” Ron said, staring directly into her eyes. Then, seeing how much it seemed to be pleasing her, he decided to take it a step further. “We can’t all be blessed with noses like yours, can we? Look at mine! It’s like an elephant’s trunk.”

“Oh, stop it,” Hermione said, blushing furiously. “You know perfectly well that it isn’t.”

So unfair.

How come girls got to lie and guys weren’t allowed to?

Then, Hermione did something that made Ron want to find the author of his book and give him the world’s grandest hug.

She took her hand and gently placed it over his, then looked sweetly into his face, her brown eyes kinder than he had ever seen them. His heart beating like a bongo drum in his chest, he would never have guessed that this was the same furious girl that he saw just a few minutes ago.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I’m just…a bit overwhelmed with all of this; the packing and the game and everything. But, you know, I really do appreciate what you did. I mean, sticking up for me in there. You didn’t have to do that.”

Ron smiled sheepishly at her. So she did appreciate it. Maybe Fred and George knew what they were doing after all.

“Well, you know Fred and George,” Ron said, hoping the conversation wouldn’t drift towards how Hermione would have answered their question. “Who knew what they were going to ask?”

“It’s okay,” Hermione said, shifting her hand over his. “I really appreciate it, but, honestly, you didn’t have to. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Oh, sure,” Ron sarcastically replied, not restraining his desire to laugh. “You certainly did a phenomenal job with the firewhisky.”

“Well it’s vile!” Hermione replied, the softness of her eyes hardening, but not removing her hand from Ron’s. “I don’t know how anyone drinks it!”

“So why didn’t you choose a spell instead?” Hermione gave him an “are you serious?” expression.

“You think I should have chosen to have Fred or George cast a spell on me? Need I remind you that we were only playing this game because their spell work ruined Fleur’s dress? I was better off with the firewhisky.”

“Point taken,” Ron said with a grin. His grin turned into laughter. “I can’t wait to tell Harry that you had firewhisky.”

“Don’t!” Hermione said. “Please; he probably feels horrible enough that we’re all here already. You remember how he was two years ago! The last thing he needs to know is that we’ve been hanging around and playing ridiculous games in his absence.”

Ron nodded, considering what a good point that was, and relieved beyond anything that Hermione had not removed her hand from his, even after the conversation had lightened.

“Good point. Maybe we’ll tell him in ten years when he stops being such a woman about it.” Hermione rolled her eyes, gave Ron’s hand a final squeeze before slowly pulling it away and turning back to her books.

“Typical Ron.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re keeping me around, aren’t you?”

“Under protest,” Hermione said, grinning and looking at her books.

“Whatever you say,” Ron said, enjoying the lightheartedness of their discussion after all of the discomfort they’d had that afternoon.

Which only lasted a few seconds, because they both heard a pop from outside.

“Your mum!” Hermione said in horror, and the two ran to warn the others. With the help of Fred and George’s quick spellwork, they had all been given the sobriety charm and ran downstairs in hopes of looking as busy as possible before she came in. Fortunately, Ron noticed a distraction in the shape of his father outside, which was likely the reason there were no casualties yet.

“What do you mean, you thought you’d experiment with this clock?”

“It’s not just any clock, Molly, it’s…it’s a very old…”

“I don’t care what it is! Do you realize we have to have company here in just a few weeks? And you’re wasting your time fretting around with this stupid clock?”

Ron giggled to himself as he quietly retreated back outside to degnome.

Maybe he should loan his father the book, too.


	4. Come and Dance

Rule # 11

Make Her Feel Like the Most Beautiful Creature that Ever Walked the Planet

 

There is not a woman on the planet that does not want to feel beautiful. Do not let a girl’s ambition, direction, goals or “tomboyish” nature fool you. Despite occasional evidence to the contrary, witches are quite human. As such, they want to be loved and admired. Let them know that they are.

 

This seems to be the part that scares wizards the most because, frankly, all of that sweet talking – it’s not natural.

 

Not to worry – believe it or not, girls think so, too.

 

Now, I don’t mean to contradict myself, here. Let me make something very clear.

 

Yes – girls want to feel absolutely beautiful.

 

No – they don’t want to hear empty words and proclamations.

 

Meaning…

 

It’s not the clichéd, “You look so absolutely beautiful, my love” proclamations that will have her eating out of the palm of your hand. Girls are quite often jaded or insecure, and, due to experience with a lot of poor operators, don’t believe these lines. This is also due to the fact that, quite often, girls don’t think much of their own appearance, so to try to convince a witch that she’s gorgeous simply by telling her she’s gorgeous will not be effective.

 

Then how does one do this?

 

Girls will start to believe that they’re beautiful when you show them the same sort of respect and admiration you’d show a brand new broomstick.

 

Think about it. When you see a broomstick that’s absolutely top notch, you don’t say, “Wow, what a beautiful broomstick” and be done with it. You admire it. You attend to its little features, exploring them with your eyes and a light caress of your hand. You notice every inch, every attribute, and you love it part for part and as a whole.

 

It probably drives women so crazy that men do this because they are scarcely met with the same attention. Girls are simply told they’re beautiful and expected to believe it despite the fact that men haven’t paid attention to any of their more distinctive features.

 

If this applies to you – if you’re one of those blokes that thinks just telling your witch she’s pretty is enough – you’d better consider changing tact. Learn to start appreciating your girl in more detail, because once you do, you’ll have her where she’ll be happiest and she’ll truly feel like the most beautiful creature in the world. After all, any old girl can be called beautiful; what makes her beautiful in such a distinct way that nobody else can match it?

 

Some places to start…

 

First, look straight into her eyes. That’s quite often the place to start, because the eyes are the closest thing to a permanent feature on a woman, at least in their outward appearance. They may not function as well in the future, but, unlike wrinkling skin, widening hips and thinning, graying hair, eyes won’t change their color or basic physical structure as drastically simply due to age. Admire the timelessness of them first.

 

Then, attend to her hair and her cheekbones. If you’re comfortable enough with her for her not to wallop you silly for it, caress her cheek or place a finger through her hair. Stay near the jaw line and neck area, particularly if you choose to give any part of her face a light touch; this is a sensitive spot for girls and tends to drive them mad. Make sure that you admire everything above the neck first – you don’t want to be accused of being fresh.

 

After you’ve shown her that every single distinct feature of her has captured your attention, you don’t have to necessarily tell her that she’s beautiful as a whole immediately. It may help; that depends on the girl in question. What really tends to drive them wild is when you let them know how nice their hair looks; how beautifully the color of their dress brings out their finer features. Girls spend a great deal of time making decisions about clothes, hair and makeup, and if you appreciate their time by calling subtle attention to it (don’t go nuts; overkill doesn’t work, either), they’re bound to consider you more sincere than if you simply said, “You’re beautiful”.

 

And, trust me on this one, when you lean in closer to a witch and softly utter one of these more specific details into her ear, you will, most likely, have her eating out of the palm of your hand. I can almost guarantee it.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione scolded herself inwardly for being so girly; for being such a Lavender. Yet, she couldn’t help it. How could this have possibly happened?

A pimple.

An enormous, painful, pink pimple…

…right on the tip of her nose.

It seemed to stand out like a spell had been cast to transform her promptly into Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer.

Not today.

Not for Bill and Fleur’s wedding…

Not after she and Ron had gone through weeks of heightened tension and this was her time to look her best in his presence. Not when this would be the last opportunity for her to do so in a long while.

Ron’s behavior over the last few weeks had motivated this desire in her even further, for he had been so surprisingly affectionate. He had taken to placing an arm around her, holding her hand or hugging her countless times, either when she got upset or just because a tender moment had arisen. It gave her an overwhelming sense of comfort especially after, just a few days before, she feared she’d never get to see him again.

She’d never forget the anxiety she felt in every excruciating second that Ron hadn’t returned with Tonks the night Moody had died. She kept picturing him being attacked by Death Eaters, falling straight off his broom or getting driven into something dangerous by Tonks’ unintentionally clumsy nature. The mere thought of it made her sick to her stomach; she couldn’t bear not knowing whether or not he was all right. All that she could think about was that, if he ever did come back, he couldn’t go anywhere else without knowing how she felt; she had to tell him straight away. They may not have another day…

And then, there he was.

There was no hesitation. She ran to him and embraced him with as much feeling and enthusiasm as she could muster. She never felt better holding onto anything or anyone in her entire life. Ron was okay, and, for a brief instant, all was right with the world.

Then, in her preoccupation with her own feeling of relief, she seemed to have accidentally offended him; expressed surprise that Tonks had complimented his ability in the line of fire. Despite a flutter of guilt, Hermione knew that they would be all right; in their years of bickering, she’d surely said worse to him intentionally.

It was what happened afterwards that changed her motivation to tell him how she was feeling.

He broke away from her and turned his attention to the others – to those who were still missing, wondering about his brothers (particularly after poor George had been through that horrible ordeal and lost his ear). He couldn’t attend to her at the time, for he was rightfully focused on the whereabouts of the Order.

Then reality hit her – regardless of how she felt, Ron’s heart and mind was in the right place. They had to keep their minds on their immediate situation; people were in danger, loved ones were dying, and this was no time for them to come to terms with their feelings. Not yet.

All the same, she couldn’t help but wonder. Every time he took the initiative to comfort her, to hold her, to make her smile, she felt a voice inside her telling her that there was no time like the present to get things moving.

But then there was Harry.

How would Harry feel with the two of them beginning a relationship while he was on a journey that was separating him from the best relationship he’d ever had; a journey that was leading him straight into a life or death situation?

But she didn’t want to think about Harry in a life or death situation.

Not Harry.

Not today.

No; today, she’d focus on simpler issues. A pimple was the sort of problem that she never allowed herself to focus on before, but she would today, if, for any reason, just to feel normal.

Naturally, a pimple had to show up on the one part of her that Ron had ever openly called cute. And here was fate telling her that, perhaps, not even her cute feature could exist without a problem. Something always stood in the way or her and Ron, didn’t it?

She sat in front of Ginny’s mirror with some of her mum’s Muggle make up she borrowed for the occasion. Nothing seemed to be working on her nose. All it did was make her pink pimple look like a crusty beige pimple.

This was absurd. Here she was, referred to as the brightest witch of her age by some clearly misinformed people, and not only was a perfectly natural skin problem plaguing her, but there was nothing she could do to fix it.

The door opened, and Hermione jumped a bit. The last thing she hoped to see was either Harry or Ron walking in on the sight of her coating her nose in what Ron would probably call “Muggle muck”.

Fortunately, a beautiful red head (who, incidentally, didn’t appear to have any skin problems) entered the room instead. Her gold dress accentuated her delicate curves and thin waist, and her silky ginger hair flowed neatly down her back. She was usually quite pretty, but, today, looked absolutely stunning.

“Ginny, you look beautiful!” Hermione said, forgetting her nose for a moment. Ginny smiled gratefully.

“Thank you! Oh, for Merlin’s sake, finally! I was starting to think I looked ghastly! Between my brothers and Mum I haven’t gotten a single compliment all day! It’s either Mum worrying about flowers instead or Fred and George telling me to cover up!” Hermione had to giggle a bit.

“Well, they’re only looking out for you.”

“Maybe if I grew up without six older brothers I’d feel that way, too,” Ginny said with a giggle, then drew closer to Hermione, admiring her dress. “That’s a lovely color, Hermione. And I really like what you’ve done with your hair.”

“Yeah, well, if only the rest of me looked just as decent.”

“What are you on about? You look gorgeous!”

Hermione gazed at Ginny as though her dilemma should have been beyond obvious. Ginny looked back, confused as to what could have possibly been wrong with Hermione’s appearance.

“My nose!” Hermione clarified, pointing to her pimple. “I look like a clown!”

“A what?” Ginny asked, coming closer. Hermione shook her head; she’d forgotten that clowns were Muggle characters.

“Never mind. It’s just, well, look at it! I’ve got an enormous pimple!” Ginny leaned her face in so that she was practically nose to nose with Hermione, and then gave her a comforting look.

“That little thing? It’s nothing, Hermione!”

“Even so. It’s right on the center of my face.”

Ginny gave Hermione a concerned look, and placed her arm on her shoulder.

“All right, show’s over. Whoever you are, I’m certain that you must’ve consumed some Polyjuice potion, because the Hermione that I know would never make such a fuss over something so completely stupid.”

“Ha, ha,” Hermione dryly replied, looking back in the mirror.

“Funny thing, though,” Ginny teased. “I just find it, I don’t know, curious that you would be so concerned about your nose of all things. You know; in light of certain games we may have played a few weeks ago.”

Hermione scowled at Ginny. How could she have possibly brought that up now? Where did the Weasleys get their knack for driving other people mad with jokes anyhow?

“Do you?”

“Honestly, Hermione,” Ginny said quietly. “We’ve been friends for a while now. You’ve always listened to me. You’ve given me so much advice on…you know…”

Ginny drifted off for a minute, clearly still uncomfortable about the fact that she and Harry had been caught in a compromising situation several days earlier. Hermione couldn’t forget how upset Ron was when he found Harry and Ginny kissing although, despite having understood Ron’s perspective, Hermione was starting to be just as sympathetic to Harry and Ginny’s plight. If she had to be separated from Ron for that long, she’d take whatever chance she could to be with him as well.

“Anyway,” Ginny said a moment later. “The point is, you always help other people, and I think it’s about time someone listened to you. If there was ever anything that you wanted to tell me, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I mean, you won’t have anyone to really talk to about these things for a while and perhaps you’ll feel better getting it off your chest.”

It was so incredibly sweet and sincere that Hermione felt that she’d be foolish to refuse. However, she didn’t even know where to begin. How much did girls really want to hear about their brothers, anyhow? Would Ginny tease Ron about it? No, she wouldn’t. Fred or George, maybe, but after all of the things Hermione kept secret on Ginny’s behalf, she certainly wouldn’t have jeopardized her trust.

What was she supposed to say, though?

“What if I asked you something and you just answered me? That could just start you off; you know, make it easier,” Ginny suggested. Hermione nodded. Answering questions would be far easier than dictating her already confusing feelings on her own. “All right, then. Do you have feelings for…someone we both know…that go beyond friendship?”

Hermione looked awkwardly at Ginny in the face, fearing how she would react when she answered. She was immensely grateful to Ginny for substituting Ron’s name with the now beautiful words “someone we both know,” for it made the situation so much easier.

“Yes…yes, I do,” Hermione whispered, looking down at her feet.

“Have you told…this person…how you feel?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Why not?”

Trying not to ruin the eye makeup that took her so long to apply due to the lack of practice she’d had with it in her lifetime, Hermione held back tears that were threatening to fall. She’d never told anybody about this. Ever. It was hard to even begin to explain how she felt.

“Well…I don’t know, really. I suppose part of it’s because it’s not exactly a good time for this person and I to discuss this because, well, there’s another person that’d have to be with us and I don’t know if he’d feel right in the middle of it. And then, well, suppose that R—I mean, this person, doesn’t feel the same way about me? Then it’ll just completely spoil everything and I have a really good friendship with him. I mean, I just…I can’t lose him.” Hermione wiped a tear that had escaped from her eyes, and quickly glanced at the mirror, partially to fix her mascara smudge and partially to hide her tears from Ginny. Ginny, however, saw right through her and quietly called Hermione’s attention back.

“Hermione, look at me.”

Hermione glanced at Ginny; at the kind, soft expression on her face, and was beginning to see a resemblance between her and Ron that went beyond hair and freckles. She had the same reassuring glow in her eyes that Ron had when Hermione was upset, and it brought a sense of warmth to her, even when she felt like such a weepy girl.

“Right. First off, you’re never losing him,” Ginny said. “That will never, ever happen, at least if he can help it. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he happens to absolutely worship you.”

“Oh, come on,” Hermione said with a giggle. That seemed like a stretch, especially considering all of the bickering they did.

“Well, it’s true. The boy fancies you like mad. If he wasn’t so completely daft he would’ve let you know about that himself by now. So don’t think for a second that he doesn’t feel the same way, because, well…I know my brother. He may not talk about these things, but I see the way he looks at you. I see the look on his face change when your name comes up in conversation. I see the way he can even turn a conversation about Mum’s corned beef sandwiches into something Hermione-centered – it’s quite disgusting, actually.”

“How romantic,” Hermione muttered, grinning all the same. It felt good to hear this from Ginny, to hear all of the things she’d always hoped for coming to light. Well, excluding the corned beef parts.

“And,” Ginny continuing, “I also know that Ron gets the moodiest about the things that he cares about most. He used to act like a royal brat when anybody would pick on Scabbers…you know, when we thought he was just Scabbers…and you saw how attached he was to that rat!”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten,” Hermione said dryly, remembering the horrible argument she and Ron had during third year.

“Yes, well, the minute Fred and George start teasing him about you, he becomes an insufferable baby. He whines like a child; you should see the state of him!”

“Fred and George tease him about me?” Hermione asked, feeling her cheeks get hot. She certainly did not want to get involved in the Weasley squabbles.

“Well, yes, but only because it’s so obvious that he fancies you. Trust me, it’s not about you; they like you a lot, of course!” This made Hermione smile even wider. It was good enough hearing Ginny speculate that Ron fancied her; to hear that the prospect of the two of them together won approval from even Fred and George was all the more encouraging.

“As for your first reason, that’s something I can understand,” Ginny went on, with a bit of sadness in her voice that wasn’t there before. “I mean, war…it changes things and sometimes, whether or not you want to be with someone…”

It was now Ginny’s turn to avoid Hermione’s gaze. She looked down and, for the first time Hermione could remember since Ginny’s first year at school, she started to look ready to cry herself.

“We’ll get through this, Ginny,” Hermione said, placing a reassuring hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “We both will. Harry will, too. He’s going to come out of this and he’s going to come back to you, and everything will be wonderful. You’ll see.”

Ginny looked back at Hermione, not appearing entirely convinced, but with a smile all the same.

“I hope you’re right,” Ginny said. “Because, frankly, as much as Phlegm’s starting to grow on me, I really like the idea of having a sister-in-law I can talk to like this.”

Hermione smiled at Ginny, touched beyond anything that they shared the same hopes and longed for the same outcome. For the first time in a while, she didn’t feel alone.

“Now, then,” Ginny said, clearly as uncomfortable about her slight show of emotion as one of her brothers would have been. “If you’re so bloody concerned about this miniscule pimple, I have picked up a few tricks from watching Mum all these years. I can also fix those blacks streams of water on your cheeks if you like.”

“What?” Hermione asked, turning back to the mirror. She saw a mess of black wetness all over her face – just from the bit of tearing up she had done - and had to laugh; she most certainly wasn’t used to this at all.

“Classy,” Ginny said, walking over to her dresser and picking up her wand. “Come here, Hermione. We’ll make that dunderhead of a brother of mine go even more taken by the sight of you than he ordinarily is – and that’s saying a lot!”

________________________________________________________________________

Hours later, Hermione couldn’t thank Ginny enough for it.

It helped matters tremendously that the wedding was turning out to be a grand success. The ceremony had been absolutely beautiful. Hermione had never seen the Burrow so gorgeous in her entire life, covered with flowers and beautified with countless enchantments. Hermione was so impressed that she was even beginning to think that maybe she could incorporate some of these features into the Muggle wedding she’d always dreamed of. Fleur and Bill both looked magnificent (and, clearly, the damage Fred and George inflicted upon Fleur’s gown was fixed). Harry’s disguise was so thoroughly convincing that Hermione often forgot it was him herself for the first hour or so, which filled her with incredible relief. With the exception of a few kinks, like the rudeness of Ron’s Aunt Muriel and the unexpected appearance of Viktor causing Ron to become absolutely grumpy, everything was going smoothly.

And Ron…

Hermione had never seen Ron look so handsome in all the time she’d known him.

His red hair, which usually looked a bit messy, was neatly combed. His dress robes were far different from the old outfit he had worn at the Yule Ball; they were dapper and charming, and they brought out his slim, tall frame in a way that his all too often small clothes did not. He truly looked like a man, not a teenage boy.

Best of all, he decided to surprise her in the best possible way.

Soon after the ceremony, it seemed that there would be a most unpleasant exchange between Ron and Viktor. Before Hermione had a moment to be afraid that Ron would initiate a brawl in the middle of his brother’s wedding and draw unwanted attention to Harry, Ron turned to her, his blue eyes more determined than she’d seen them in a while.

“Come and dance,” he said.

He wanted to dance with her.

She couldn’t hide her smile. For a moment, she forgot all about Viktor, all about her fear regarding whether or not Harry would be found out, and she followed Ron onto the dance floor.

She watched the other couples on the floor for a cue, for she didn’t have a great deal of experience with dancing. They seemed to be linked together much in the style of the waltz dancing done at the Yule Ball, swaying to a moderately paced song light-heartedly. Hermione followed Ron to the center of the floor, where he stopped, took her hand in his, and placed her other hand around his shoulder.

“I think we stand like this,” Ron suggested, looking in concentration at their form. Whether or not they were properly positioned didn’t matter to Hermione, who couldn’t ignore the beating of her heart as she felt their frames draw closer together and the moistness of Ron’s strong hand in hers. The sweat emitting from his palm told her that he was just as nervous as she was.

“Yes, that seems to be right,” Hermione said, starting to move. She looked at their interlinked fingers to avoid looking into his face for a moment, because she had never been in such a position with him and feared that gazing into his blue eyes would cause her to turn redder than she already was.

Then, a second later, she felt bravery win over cowardice.

She looked up at him to see him gazing back at her with a smile. He looked into her eyes in a content way, as if he couldn’t be more pleased than he was dancing with her. Then, he had that look of concentration that she’d seen on his face several times before in the past month; that look that seemed as though he was trying to remember something or think of the right thing to say.

“Your eyes…”

Panic set in as Hermione remembered the way her eyes looked in the mirror earlier and started imagining that she may have seen all of Ron’s relatives in that state.

“What? I don’t have that black rubbish across my face again, do I?”

“No, no,” Ron said immediately. “It’s just…you’ve never put any of that powder on your face before.”

“Makeup? Probably because it’s a dreadful mess and a horrible pain. I suppose you don’t like it, either.”

“No, it’s…it looks good. It’s just, you know, I’m not used to it. I like it, though. It looks quite pretty. You look quite pretty.” Hermione smiled, feeling herself blush.

“Wow. And you didn’t even sound surprised that time.”

“I’m not, really,” Ron said, quietly. “I mean, why would I be? Obviously I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Ron’s expression fell slightly as he glanced in Viktor’s direction. There he went again worrying over nonsense - as though Viktor held a fraction of the place in Hermione’s heart that Ron did.

“Oh, well, don’t worry about that,” Hermione said. “Let’s just…forget about him and dance.”

“We are dancing,” Ron replied with a grin. “And they say you’re the brightest witch of your age…”

“Oh, stop it. You know what I mean,” Hermione said, glad that they were back to at least a bit of their old routine. Although Hermione was fully enjoying the advancements they’d made and their newly developing tenderness with one another, a piece of her still longed for their old banter. She smiled up at Ron and he smiled back, lifting his arm up to twirl her around and then holding her again as she completed the step.

“Nice,” Hermione said, grinning up at him.

“Thanks. I saw Dad do that with Mum at a wedding once and I’ve always wanted to try it. Of course, they’re a bit smoother than I am.”

“You’re doing fine,” Hermione assured him.

“Well, that’s because I’ve got a partner who knows what she’s doing. Rubbish on a broomstick, but otherwise, she seems to be well coordinated.”

“I can hardly breathe for laughing,” Hermione sarcastically replied.

“Well, it’s all right. Skilled at flying or not, you’re still making me look really good here. How often is it that a right old prat like me gets to dance with the kind of girl that international Quidditch stars seek out?”

“Ron, that’s hardly true. You make it seem like I’ve got a line of them at my door.” Ron’s blue eyes looked deeply into Hermione’s face, examining her own brown eyes and glancing down at her cheekbones and lips, then back up into her eyes.

“You should,” he softly told her. Ordinarily she would have laughed, but there was a sweet sincerity in the way that he said it that she just decided to smile at him.

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Trust me, Hermione, if there’s one thing I haven’t done, it’s give you too much credit. In fact, I—”

At that point Ron was cut off, for the music stopped. Hermione almost felt annoyed with the band for deciding to cut Ron off in the midst of one of the most wonderful conversations they’d ever had, but she decided to join Ron and the remainder of the dance floor in applauding the band.

“And now, a very special song,” the MC announced over the microphone. The band started playing a new piece, which was much slower than the last. They got back into their dance positions, only this time, Ron leaned his frame in a bit closer to hers. Hermione wondered if he could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She had hoped for the chance to be this close to Ron for as long as she could remember, and he was with her, looking as though he felt the same way.

“You were saying?” Hermione asked, eagerly anticipating the end of his last thought.

“Your memory’s as quick as ever,” Ron said, rolling his eyes, clearly hoping she’d forget.

“Ron…” Hermione insisted, not letting his sarcasm change what he was about to tell her.

“I was saying that I should give you more credit. I mean, I was kind of, well, you know, a bit of a complete arse last year.”

“You don’t say,” Hermione dryly muttered. The last thing she wanted to talk about was Lavender or any other information suggestive of the fiasco that was their relationship the previous year.

“Yeah, I mean, it was stupid, really.”

“Really? What would ever make you say that?” Hermione asked in an equally dry tone.

“You don’t make it easier on a bloke, do you?” Ron asked. “All right, you know it, I know it; I messed up. Fact is, I just suppose it was easier.”

“Easier?”

“Yes. I mean, Lavender—I mean, she was just there. Just like that. I didn’t have to try; she was just…”

“You know, I’m really glad you’re telling me this,” Hermione said, trying not to show Ron precisely how furious she was. She didn’t want to turn Bill and Fleur’s wedding into the second Yule Ball.

“Will you please just let me finish?” Ron asked, concentration etched on his face as though articulating his thoughts took every last ounce of his focus. “It’s just…I’m used to being around you. And you’re just so…I mean, you’re clever and you’re talented, and you’re just…better than I am…”

Hermione looked into Ron’s blue eyes, which started to become a bit sadder, and a bit of her heart broke for him. Is that what he really thought? That she was better than he was?

“Ron, that’s not…”

“Wait,” Ron said, swaying more closely to her as the song continued. “So it gets hard. I mean, I know I’m not terrible or anything, but sometimes, when you’re around a girl who’s got everything, I mean, everything, you just have to try harder. And then when I saw you came in tonight, and you looked like that, I figured I’d have to ask you to dance quickly, or else Vicky or someone else would be sure to do it first.”

“Ronald Weasley, stop right there,” Hermione said, suddenly forgetting to feel flattered. She looked into his sad, vulnerable expression, and resolved to put a stop to this nonsense immediately. “You are not going to continue on in the next few months thinking that I am better than you! You are a wonderful person, and you’ve shown unbelievable loyalty and strength in the years that I’ve known you. You are just as good as I am, so don’t you dare say I’m better!”

“Maybe,” Ron said, beginning to look and sound a bit uncomfortable at the direction in which this conversation was heading. In an attempt to change the mood to a more pleasant one, he allowed the carefree smile he had on his face moments before to return. “I don’t think I’d look nearly as good in a dress, though.”

“Well, I should hope not!” Hermione said, giggling along with him. “But then again, how would you know?”

“I was thinking of following in Fred’s influence,” Ron laughed. “You know; maybe I can set up an enchantment to make the people around me ugly. That way I won’t have to worry about Vicky as much.” Laughing, Hermione took her hand away from Ron’s for a moment and playfully hit him in the chest.

“You are impossible sometimes, you know?”

“I admitted to being an arse once; that’s quite enough for one day,” Ron told her. Then, she noticed that calculating look again. She almost felt tempted to ask why he kept doing that; it was starting to get a bit annoying. She was contemplating doing just that when, to her surprise, Ron leaned in so that his mouth was an inch from her ear.

“Your hair looks lovely, by the way,” he said softly.

A shiver slid down Hermione’s entire body as his words penetrated deeply within her.

Did Ronald Weasley just tell her that her hair of all things was lovely?

Then, he heightened this temporary intoxication worse…

As he removed his face from her ear, his breath still warm against her skin, she felt his hand softly run through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, and then reconnect with her (now slightly more sweaty) hand.

Feeling completely flushed, Hermione looked up at him, at the satisfied grin on his face, and smiled back.

“Thank you,” she quietly said. “So does yours. I mean, you know, it looks nice.”

“Oh, well, that’s Mum’s doing. She told me…what was it? Oh yeah…that if I didn’t put a comb through that mop she was going to hex me to next year. Yeah, I think that was it. Only she added a few very colorful words in between that she’d probably hex me to next year for using myself.”

“Really?” asked Hermione, barely focusing on what Ron was saying; rather, her concentration was fixed on the shiver that still traveled throughout her body thinking of the feel of Ron’s breath against her cheek.

“Yup. Mum can surprise you sometimes.”

Apparently, it was a Weasley trait.

Ron had the power to go from making her completely mental with anger one moment to enabling her to feel like the most beautiful girl in the room the next. His ability to do the latter continued as they danced on, talking and laughing as they swayed to slow and fast tunes. Through each and every step, Ron kept giving Hermione that look - the one that told her that Ginny had to have been right about him; he did seem to fancy her, just as Ginny had said.

Yet, he didn’t have to come out and tell her so. She could feel it in his gaze, in his touch, in the smiles that appeared on his face as he twirled her again and again. As they decided to take a break in dancing, with Ron off to get Butterbeers and Hermione off to join Harry, who she had started to feel guilty for leaving on his own all this time, Hermione realized that, wherever this was going, it was starting to look more hopeful.


	5. Fits of Gallantry and Promises

Rule # 10

When She’s Upset, the Greatest Comfort is a Little Bit of Intimacy

 

In order to fully appreciate this rule, a few terms have to be clarified.

 

First off, what do I mean when I say “upset”? I mean every time she clearly isn’t happy. This includes moments when her mind seems to wander, times when she’s trying to hide her worry, and all of those ever-so joyous occasions when she’s mad at someone, whether or not that person is you.

 

Many wizards think that the only time they have to comfort a witch is if she’s actually crying.

 

Not true, mates. Not true.

 

As a matter of fact, if you learn to perfect the skills I’m about to discuss, perhaps you can even prevent the crying before it starts, at least in situations when crying may not be a necessary step in the expected progression of things (you do not, for instance, want to stop a girl in mourning from crying over her loss. That’s just insensitive). Stopping the waterworks, my friends, is a total blessing, and those of you who’ve seen your beautiful witches with splotchy cheeks and red eyes will agree. Not only is it not exactly the most alluring look in the world, but it also has this poor habit of making a bloke feel horribly guilty for some reason. If she’s upset, we tend to blame ourselves.

 

The next term that requires clarification is intimacy. By this, I do not mean that you grab a witch on the verge of hysteria, scoop her into her arms and begin a snog fest of monumental proportions. A lot of men think that you can kiss a girl’s pain away. Most of the time, this will do little more than earn you a shove and a lecture about how you haven’t even been listening to her and that all you care about is snogging.

 

Rather, what I mean is that, at times like these, a girl needs a man who comforts her in the way that a father, perhaps, would comfort his daughter. It’s in their moments of vulnerability that women choose to retreat back to being five at heart. Women need a lap to sit on, a shoulder to lean on, and a soothing voice to tell them that everything will be all right, even if it may not be.

 

So, basically, the first thing you have to do is know the witch in question. Does she tend to hold things in until she explodes? Does she wear her heart directly on her sleeve? What cues does she give you to let you know she’s about to burst? Catch on to these before the explosion sets off. Then, before she decides to prompt your attention by exhibiting an emotional break down of sorts, get there first – hold her in your arms, take your finger and place it under her chin, forcing her eyes to look at yours (she’ll feel less motivated to cry if she has to see your face doing it), hold her hand…do whatever it will take to let her know that someone cares for her and does not wish to see her upset.

 

Ron stared anxiously at the dim, dreary hallway at Grimmauld Place, both wondering what Hermione was doing as well as how the hell they’d gone from a wedding to this in a matter of hours.

She had gone to give Harry his toothbrush. Or so she claimed. Ron knew quite well that she was likely going to check on him and be certain that he was trying to block Voldemort out of his mind.

That was just great. Precisely what they needed. It wasn’t as though Harry wasn’t in enough of a right state. He needed Hermione nagging him like he needed a second scar on the other side of his forehead.

When she’d come back, Ron would tell her this. She would not carry on like this for the next few months. She would give Harry a break and save the three of them a lot of arguments, because, though Ron understood where Harry was coming from, if he had to hear him scold Hermione repeatedly for the next few months he would surely crack and hex some manners into him. Ron hoped to avoid this by any means possible.

This was the power that Hermione held – the ability to drive everybody crazy and, yet, have Ron ready and willing to stick up for her anyway.

Finally, he heard the creaking of the floorboards outside and walked closer to the doorway of the drawing room, looking at Hermione for a hint of how the conversation had gone. He saw it in her face. She looked as though Harry had just taken her SPEW buttons and burned them in a fire. It was Hermione’s typical disapproving look, which had been reserved for Ron on far more occasions than it had for Harry, so he knew it rather well.

“Unbelievable.”

“What now?” Ron asked, completely exasperated.

“What do you think, Ron?” Hermione asked in a tone that told Ron she thought he was just about the thickest person on the planet. “He’s doing it again! He’s not even trying to stop it from happening!”

“How do you know that?” Ron asked, a little annoyed that Hermione would choose to be so presumptuous instead of supporting their friend.

“Well, I asked him if he wanted his toothbrush and it took him a minute to answer. And it looked like he was in pain again! What was the point of enduring all of those lessons with Snape if he’s not even going to try putting them to use right now?”

“That’s not answering my question,” Ron challenged. “I asked you how you know that he’s not even trying. Perhaps he is; how do you know how hard it is? You’ve never had to get Voldemort’s visions out of your head, have you?”

“I know perfectly well what you were asking, Ron, thanks very much,” Hermione growled, advancing on him. “I’m not stupid, you know! Of course I don’t know what it’s like! The point is, after all this time, I know how Harry is. I just know he isn’t trying! I don’t even know if he wants to try!”

“You’re not being very fair, Hermione,” Ron said, standing up to his full height and looking about a foot down at her. “I mean, ruddy hell, you always do this! Just because you know all about spell work and how to do every enchantment in the world doesn’t mean that you can be sure of what other people are thinking all the time!”

Hermione glared at Ron as though he had slapped her.

She had no response to this claim; she had been corrected and she knew it. Hermione hated being wrong, and Ron was well aware of that.

The book would not have been more disappointed in him.

But, as Ron had assumed before, the book didn’t know Hermione, did it?

“Fine, then,” Hermione finally replied. “Fine. If I’m just some presumptuous pest, perhaps I’ll just leave you and Harry to do whatever you please. I’ll sit and watch as Harry clutches his forehead in total pain and just shrug my shoulders like you would. And when Voldemort awakens to this connection he’s got with Harry and uses it to come and kill us all, I’ll grin and bear it because it’s just wrong of me to do otherwise. How does that sound, Ron?”

She stormed past him, shoving herself into his shoulder as she took a seat in the drawing room and crossed her arms heatedly.

Brilliant

Just brilliant.

Now she wouldn’t speak to him for days. This was precisely what he needed.

“Hermione,” Ron sighed, turning to her and hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t start crying again. “Please. Think of Harry.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Hermione said, giving Ron the most piercing stare he’d seen in a while. “But I am thinking of Harry! Harry may not be thinking of Harry, but I am, and, quite honestly, I’m sick of being the only one showing any sense around here! Just because I won’t baby him into thinking that he’s always right doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of him!”

“Well, Hermione, Dumbledore knew that Harry was absolute rubbish at Occlumency, didn’t he? Do you think he would have trusted Harry to find all the Horcruxes if he thought Voldemort could possibly know enough about their connection to find us all and kill us?” Hermione gazed at her hands, defeated once again. Ron felt like smiling in spite of himself; it wasn’t common for him to make more sense than she did. It seemed that that was an unspoken understanding they both held simultaneously.

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“So?” Ron asked, taking a seat next to her. Advice from the book, now floating in his head through memory since it was currently sitting in his dresser drawer at home, echoed in the background of their conversation. If Hermione was about to cry, he’d stop it before it started, despite the fact that he instigated in the first place.

“So I worry,” Hermione confessed. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” Ron said, taking his hand and strategically placing it under Hermione’s chin, directing her gaze at him. Her eyes lost the hardness and anger they’d had a few minutes ago. They now looked like they were rethinking everything. He heard her draw a deep breath upon looking at him. “I can’t. But, well, we’re going to feel worried, but we can’t use that to turn on each other, can’t we?”

“No,” Hermione said softly. “We can’t. You’re right. I just wish that…”

In an effort to distract her, Ron remembered his book’s advice and took the hand underneath her chin up to her cheek. He kept his hand on her jaw while his large thumb slowly moved up and down the side of her face.

She closed her eyes, appearing far more relaxed and rather pleased.

Thank goodness for rule ten…

“Relax,” Ron said, continuing to brush his thumb against her face. “Harry knows what he’s doing. He will be fine. I know this is probably useless to tell you, but try not to get your wand in a knot about it.”

“It’s…it’s not useless,” Hermione managed to utter, although, much to Ron’s delight, it looked as though she were lost in the trance his hand had brought her. “But he needs that push sometimes. You know that.”

“Who doesn’t need a push sometimes?” Ron asked.

“I don’t,” Hermione answered, smiling at Ron as though she had finally made a grander point.

But Ron was on a roll…

“Sure,” Ron said sarcastically. “And you were thoroughly convinced that joining us was the right thing to do that night during our first year when Harry and I went to duel Draco. You didn’t need a push then.”

“It wasn’t the right thing to do!” Hermione insisted. “If we had been caught…”

“Oh come off it,” Ron said, placing his hand back in his lap. “After all the rules we’ve broken you’re still upset about that one?”

“Well that one was unnecessary,” Hermione pointed out. “It wasn’t a matter of other people’s safety to go and seek out a fight with Draco, now, was it?”

“What about Draco?” came a voice from the doorway. Hermione and Ron both turned, and Ron felt quite grateful that he’d decided to remove his hand from Hermione’s cheek a moment ago. Harry looked almost alarmed at the sound of Draco’s name; or was it Ron’s imagination? Was Hermione rubbing off on him and making him as utterly paranoid as she was?

“Nothing, Harry,” Hermione said, and Ron let a silent cheer shout out in his head upon hearing how pleasant her voice was. “Just…talking about Hogwarts.”

Harry’s expression changed from one of nervousness to one that hoped to change the subject as fast as possible. Ron looked closely at him; it seemed that he had been sweating. His eyes had a faraway, distracted look to them, but he wouldn’t fixate on this; not after he lectured Hermione for doing it. That would just make her right, and that was the last thing Ron wanted after managing to keep her quiet.

“Of all the things you could have mentioned about Hogwarts, you chose Malfoy?” Harry asked, trying to add a bit of light-heartedness to the discussion. “It has been a long day, hasn’t it?”

“Long’s not the word,” Ron said, shaking his head in exhaustion. “I reckon we could all use some sleep.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “Hermione, we’ll all stay together, like you said. You have the sleeping bags, then?”

“I’ll take them out,” Hermione offered, heading to her bag.

She was still in a slightly off mood; Ron knew it. There had to be something else he could do; something that would guarantee that she wouldn’t wake up and decide to go back to giving Harry a hard time. Some act of intimacy that would prevent her from being upset.

An idea sparked in Ron’s mind…

Brilliant…

“No!” Ron insisted, trying to hide the smile from his face in full confidence that this had to work.

Harry gave Ron a questioning look, as though he had just professed his undying love for Moaning Myrtle or something equally ridiculous.

“You don’t want to sleep?” Harry asked.

“No, of course I do, it’s just that, well, Hermione shouldn’t sleep on the floor!”

Hermione, who had her face dug deeply inside her small beaded bag, jerked her head up and looked fearfully at Ron.

“No, really, Ron, I can’t go upstairs and be on my own tonight. Not when…”

“No, no, you’ll be with us!” Ron said, wishing, for a moment, that Harry would stop looking at him like that. “It’s just that, well, you should be a bit more comfortable. I mean, the cushions from the couch; nobody’s using them. You should sleep on them.”

Hermione looked touched, but confused. Harry, meanwhile, turned his head to the side for a moment, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion that he was trying to conceal a snigger.

“Oh, Ron, I’ll be perfectly fine. I don’t need any…”

“I insist!” Ron interrupted, taking a sleeping bag from Hermione’s hands and placing it directly on the couch cushions, then patting it as if to invite Hermione to lie down. “I won’t feel right with you sleeping on the floor while you could be far more comfortable.”

“Really, Ron…”

“Hermione, take the cushions,” Harry intervened, before proceeding to bite his lip as though he was trying to hide a smile. “Ron’s right.”

Ron couldn’t have been more grateful to Harry, and, for a moment, felt a enormous wave of guilt wading through him for the way he had addressed Harry a few days ago. He felt the need to turn back time and allow Harry his moment with Ginny just to compensate for his support.

But, then again, Harry had to deal with Hermione the next day as well, so who could blame him for seeking to ensure that she had the best night’s sleep possible?

“Well, all right then, thank you. Are you both sure? I mean, if either of you would like the cushions yourselves, you can have them.”

“The floor’s fine, Hermione,” Harry insisted, exchanging a look with Ron. Without speaking, Ron knew that Harry had put two and two together and figured out that this was the work of the book at hand. Ron suspected that Harry would be giving it a full read when he returned home.

Whenever that would be.

Hermione accepted Harry’s answer and turned to Ron.

“Ron?”

“Are you absolutely mental?” Ron asked. “Why would I insist that you take the cushions if I wanted them?”

“Oh, right,” Hermione replied in an innocent tone that Ron couldn’t help but find terribly cute. “Well, thank you. If it’s all right…”

“It’s fine,” Harry repeated.

“Cut it out and make yourself comfortable,” Ron insisted. Hermione settled herself on the cushions as Harry and Ron each took their own sleeping bags. Ron’s placed his bag directly alongside the cushions that held Hermione, which he concluded Harry seemed to notice after observing that he had set his own sleeping bag a few feet away from the pair of them. Trying to conceal from Hermione that this was as obvious a move on Harry’s part as it was, Ron turned to Harry, pretending to be confused.

“I don’t really have spattergroit, you know,” Ron said, cursing himself silently for doing anything to change the convenient arrangement of sleeping bags.

“I know,” Harry said in a forced state of cluelessness. “But someone ought to be close to the door in case we have an intruder, no?”

“Right,” Ron said, laying his sleeping bag down. Then, much to Ron’s amusement, as Hermione’s eyes peacefully closed, he saw Harry grin at him and mouth the word, “smooth”. Ron turned red and shrugged his shoulders. Harry stifled a giggle, shaking his head, and got himself into his sleeping bag.

As Ron lay down, he turned his attention to Hermione, who was breathing evenly and seemed to have fallen asleep the moment her head touched her pillow. The moonlight outside lit up her face, which still had bits of powder on it that she hadn’t fully succeeded in getting off. Mum or Ginny must’ve helped with that, because Ron was sure Hermione would have rinsed that muck off her face otherwise.

He looked into the contours of her face, the way that her cheeks curved softly, and imagined himself gazing at her like this every night; being able to have this be the very last thing he looked at before he went to sleep. The thought brought him an immense sense of comfort and he felt the weight of his eyelids droop and went to sleep himself.

_______________________________________________________________________

No sooner had Ron drifted off to sleep than he had been startled into a wake.

He heard the fearful moans of a voice he would recognize anywhere, and his eyes popped open.

He looked up immediately into Hermione’s face, which had been so peaceful just a little while before. It was twisted into an unpleasant, alarmed expression, as whimpers of fear and displeasure escaped from her mouth. Harry, who lay peacefully feet away from the two of them, didn’t seem to notice the noise that Hermione was making.

“Hermione?” Ron whispered, sitting up so that his face was directly alongside hers. She wouldn’t wake. Her body started to twist, and he could see drops of sweat forming on her forehead.

“No,” he heard her say. “No…Ron…”

A nightmare.

She was having a nightmare about him.

He had to stop this right away. He gently took his hand and placed it on her arm, shaking her a bit.

“Hermione, I’m right here.”

“Ron…no…”

“Hermione!” Ron repeated, shaking her with greater force and urgency while trying not to project his voice too loudly. “Hermione, wake up!”

With a jolt, Hermione’s eyes popped open, her breathing heavy as the sweat covering her face seeped into her hair. Ron repeatedly ran his hand soothingly from her hairline to the back of her head, letting his fingers glide through her damp hair and looking into her wide brown eyes with concern. She turned them to him and looked both relieved and embarrassed.

“Oh, Ron…oh, I’m sorry…I just…”

“I know,” Ron said. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to explain.” Hermione sat up and Ron placed his arm away from her head and around her shoulder, rubbing her back as she allowed herself to breathe normally again.

She looked absolutely terrified. Ron imagined the sort of visions she may have just experienced in her dream, for he had had plenty of those nightmares himself involving her. The last thing she needed was to experience it a second time by describing it to him.

She turned to him, wiping sweat off her face and gazing intently at him.

“Ron, please…can you, I mean, can you just stay by me, in case…”

“Why do you think I moved my sleeping bag where it is, Hermione?” Ron asked. “Do you really think you have to ask me to stay by you?”

The two exchanged a look and gazed, transfixed at one another. Ron hadn’t seen Hermione in such a state in quite a while. She looked so completely vulnerable, so small, that it seemed hard to believe that she was the girl he had feared crossing so many times in the course of their friendship. There was a beauty to her face like this; all he wanted to do was fall asleep holding her against him. But he knew he couldn’t do that.

“I was so scared,” Hermione went on.

“I told you, Hermione, you don’t have to explain,” Ron said, not eager to push her into a state of hysterics.

“I’m not talking about my dream,” Hermione said, pushing herself more tightly into Ron as he gave her a comforting squeeze. “I’m talking about today. When I didn’t know where you were for the second bloody time in a month!”

Ron knew that Hermione must have been pretty upset if she reached the point where she was openly swearing. He would have called her on it, but she had an intense fire in her eyes that didn’t look ready to be extinguished yet.

“You don’t know what that’s like Ron! To know that you could be suffering or hurt – and there was nothing I could do about it because I couldn’t even find you!”

He placed both arms around her tightly, moved beyond words at her concern for him. Hermione may not have realized it in her state of worry, but he did have a taste for what that was like, for, in searching for Hermione and Harry himself earlier that day, he felt an enormous weight in his gut and worry beyond anything he’d ever experienced in his life. However, unlike Hermione, he wouldn’t even begin to honor the fear that anything could have possibly happened to either of them. If he had to think about that, it would have affected him to the point where he’d lose all mobility.

“I’m here, Hermione. So’s Harry. We made it. We’re all together.”

“But what if…”

“We can’t worry about that, can we?” Ron lied, pretending for a moment that the “what if” fears she expressed didn’t cross his mind dozens of times as well. “We’ve just got to muddle through this and try to stick together.”

“Just…just promise…” Hermione whispered, rising a state of fear in Ron. This was war; he couldn’t promise much of anything. He allowed her to resume anyway. “Promise me, Ron, that, as long as you can help it, you’ll just…stay close by me and Harry. I can’t bear any more worry than I already have.”

“As long as I can help it,” Ron said, fearing that he would later eat his words. “But, Hermione, I can’t make promises for every time; you know that things may happen…”

“I know,” Hermione said, a blazing look in her brown eyes. “But, sometimes, we just take advantage of the fact that we can be separated for a few moments like we did today when you were off getting Butterbeer. We almost got ourselves split up. I can’t…I don’t want to think about that happening again. Ron, please…”

“All right, I promise,” Ron said, resting his head on top of hers and holding her tightly into him. “I promise you, Hermione, that, as long as I can help it, I won’t be far away from you.”

And they just stayed there for a moment, Ron on his knees and Hermione sitting on the edge of cushions in front of him, as he held her tightly and listened to her breathing become steadier. Just as the book had predicted, because Ron had sought to comfort her first, she didn’t cry. He didn’t even feel a smidgen of a tear drop against his chest as she nuzzled her face deeply into him. After a few moments, Ron turned to check on Harry, who was still fast asleep. He then turned back to Hermione.

“You try to get some sleep, now,” he told her. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Hermione nodded, and let her head rest softly on her pillow. Ron felt wrong about just leaving her there without knowing for certain that he was alongside her. He gently took her hand in his, and she turned towards him, looking a great deal more comfortable as she squeezed it back and started breathing steadily and drifting off to sleep.

He felt the pressure of her hand ease within his as her mind was clearly moving towards a more pleasant state, and examined the small size of it in his hand. He had a feeling that, even if she was sleeping, she would be aware if he intentionally let go of her. He wouldn’t – he had promised her, as long as he could help it, he would stay by her.

As he breathed slowly in and out, he felt her hand in his, and it brought him a sense of peace that enabled him to very easily get to sleep.

The next day, Ron awoke to find that their hands were a few inches apart. Hermione, still sleeping, hadn’t noticed. He felt fear rising in his throat…

…what if he couldn’t keep his promise to her?

What if, even after his most noble efforts, there was some force that separated them, much like the inexplicable reason behind the separation of their hands?

He blinked these thoughts away, hoping beyond hope that he’d have more conscious control over his actions than he’d have over the state of his body during sleep.

Little did he know how that hope would be challenged in the months to come...


	6. On Her Side

Author’s Note: First of all, I want to thank everyone for their kind reviews! Secondly, I just wanted to make a quick note about this chapter. This was a break in the pattern of alternating perspectives, meaning that we hear it from Ron’s POV a second time instead of Hermione’s. I did this because I felt that this particular missing moment would be best expressed through RON, because I believed he was the one who felt the most vulnerability at this point of the story. This one’s a little shorter than the others, and there’s more arguing and less fluff, because I really wanted to stress the changing mood Jo depicted as her story went on. So, yeah, it’s a little different, but I hope you like it anyway J

 

Rule # 12

Be On Her Side

 

Surprise, surprise, chaps – we need to absolutely, positively not take this instruction at face value. If you’re on rule twelve and haven’t deduced that for yourself, though, you haven’t been paying close enough attention.

 

At first, the words “be on her side” may be deceiving. It may seem like I’m suggesting that you claim your witch is always right, even if she’s not. That, friends, is a very primary school version of being on someone’s side.

 

Being on a person’s side does not mean that you always agree with that person. That’s near impossible. Being on a girl’s side means you want what’s truly best for her, even if the witch of your dreams isn’t likely to admit that you’re right about it.

 

The fact is, often times, witches will know what’s best for them, but won’t want to admit it. They’ll need that push if they seem blind to the fact that they could be making a potentially harmful decision.

 

Case in point – suppose your girl decides that she wants to lose weight, even though you fear she may be too skinny already. Due to her feelings of insecurity, this girl may not realize on her own that losing weight is an unhealthy and unwise decision. If you are supporting her decision to starve herself, you are most certainly not on this girl’s side; you’re on your side, because you’re cutting yourself loose of an argument and making life easier for you, not better for her.

 

Being on her side means ensuring that she continues to do what’s best for her, whether or not it may cause an argument or two on the road to getting there. Sometimes arguments are worth it as long as there’s a happy ending.

 

However, to avoid such arguments, the best thing to do is to abide by the following two rules:

 

1 – If your girl is clearly doing something to physically, financially or emotionally hurt or endanger herself or others, that’s when it’s time for you to “be on her side” by pointing her in the right direction and intervening, putting an end to her unhealthy habits.

 

2 – If your girl is not hurting herself or anyone else, and you simply find yourself annoyed by what she’s choosing to do (say, if she wants to pursue a career that you think is beneath her), intervening is not the way to go. In this case, since she’s clearly not harming anyone, including herself, being on her side can, in fact, be taken at face value.

 

Most importantly, as I will stress throughout this chapter – refer back to rule number one – listen. If you can’t understand why a girl is motivated to act in a certain way, ask. Maybe she has some motivating force driving her decisions that you don’t know about; one of which could well change your mind about whether or not you choose to be on her side.

 

Ronald Weasley was furious.

Harry Potter was his best mate. He’d do anything for him, including join him on a hunt for Horcruxes with very little planning involved and dangerous situations likely to turn up at every corner. He’d leave his family without contact for months, right after an incident that could have very well left them hurt, no less. He’d be willing to sacrifice everything he held dear for a length of time that remained uncertain if he could manage to be a source of comfort and help to Harry, who had so little support in his life already.

He would not, however, allow Harry to act like such an absolute git.

Harry had no place.

Who did he think he was, anyway, yelling at Lupin like that? Hermione was right to look at Harry disapprovingly like she did. How dare he even think of starting in on her, on taking his anger out on Hermione, of all people? How much had Hermione done for him? How much had she given up on his behalf? And yet, there he was, that ungrateful prat, yelling at her for rightfully expressing opposition to the way he treated Lupin, the way he, once again, took his anger out on a friend.

Worse, yet, Harry didn’t seem to have even heard the more important thing Lupin was saying…

Muggle-borns were in trouble.

Hermione was in trouble.

He imagined some group of ignorant sodding bastards at the Ministry going through a master list of Muggle-borns, coming across her name and starting an investigation to seek her out. What would they do to her if they found her? What price would she have to pay for simply being who she was?

He couldn’t – he would not – allow anything to happen to her. He’d do whatever he could - lie, cheat, steal, cast an Unforgivable Curse on anyone standing in his way – to be certain that no Death Eaters got their filthy hands on her.

The last bit of fuel Ron needed to add to the fire already burning in his mind between Lupin’s announcement, his furious departure and the run in the three of them had had with Mundungus a short while earlier, was Harry’s short temper with Hermione, because, as it was, Ron was already defensive when it came to her. He didn’t need an additional reason for it.

For the time being, however, Ron didn’t need to fear his heightened anger surfacing again - Harry had vacated the kitchen a few moments ago. He claimed to be off to try and sleep, particularly exhausted after the two had practically wrestled Mundungus to the ground just to find out the Horcrux was in the world’s worst place. Ron doubted Harry could really be sleeping; rather, he suspected that he just wanted to be on his own for a while. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione sat where they were, pondering the day’s events. They didn’t speak, both of them too lost in their own thoughts to even begin discussing them.

Muggle-borns were in danger.

Lupin had contemplated leaving his pregnant wife alone for months.

They’d found Mundungus, who had the Horcrux – he had it, right there – and it somehow got into Umbridge’s hands.

It was a mess. The whole thing was a complete bloody mess. Harry’s mood didn’t lighten the situation, either.

What made matters worse was one thought that would not escape Ron’s mind; a thought that he knew Hermione would not approve of…

If they were going to go and get this Horcrux from Umbridge, there was no way she could join them.

She’d be walking right into her own exile if anything went wrong.

Just as he was thinking this for the tenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Hermione decided to challenge his thinking as though reading his mind.

“We should go to the Ministry with the cloak,” Ron heard Hermione suggest, half talking to Ron and half talking to herself. “Take turns, you know? We’ll need to get a clear idea of who works with Umbridge. And we’ll need to know what time everyone gets in, and where they all work.”

She turned to Ron, unaware that he could not have disagreed more with the course of action Hermione was suggesting. Not the steps she listed, but her use of the word “we”. There would be no “we”. She would not endanger herself like this, not when she made him promise not to be far away from her. How could she place the threat that she could be taken away from him and Harry over their heads? The horrid idea stood over him like an anvil being held by dental floss, ready to knock him to the ground in pain.

“Oh, and, Ron, you’ve been with your father to work, right? You know about the hidden entrances and all of that, don’t you? Or maybe Harry remembers, too. He was just there…”

“I think I’d know just as well as Harry would!” Ron interrupted, not eager to give Harry any more credit than he deserved. After all, it wasn’t Harry who was worried about Hermione’s safety at the moment, it was him.

But why would Hermione pay attention to any of Ron’s worries at all?

Hermione looked annoyed that Ron had been short with her, and, just like Hermione, didn’t hold back about her state of frustration.

“What’s up with you?” Hermione asked briskly.

“Well, gee, I’ve got to think about that one,” Ron answered in mock contemplation. “Right, well, we only know about one Horcrux. Oh, yeah, and toadface Umbridge has it, doesn’t she? Lupin’s just Apparated out of here furious at the three of us because Harry acted like a completely foul git. We just had to see Mundungus, which is bad enough, and we got nothing but aggravating news out of him, which is worse. Oh, and, right…Muggle- borns are now being investigated. So, naturally, you want to go to the Ministry straight away and put yourself in more danger than you’re in already. Blimey, Hermione, I can’t think of a single reason why I’d be upset. But what do I know? I’m just stupid Ron, right? Why don’t you ask Harry to explain my mood instead? He’d know much better than I would, wouldn’t he?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, grow up, Ron!” Hermione shouted, hitting a nerve in Ron that was in no position to be hit. “Weren’t you the one telling me that we shouldn’t turn against each other just a few days ago?”

“Grow up?” Ron asked, ignoring Hermione’s rather good question. “What the bloody hell does this have to do with growing up? Hermione, they’re looking for Muggle-borns! Don’t you get it?”

“No, Ron, I’m completely daft!” Hermione sarcastically replied, throwing her arms in the air in frustration. “I don’t get it at all! I can’t imagine that I could possibly be in any danger! I mean, after all, I’ve been so sure to stay out of situations that could get me in trouble, dropping out of school and running off with Harry Potter! And you – you’re a fine example of typical, upstanding, Ministry-approved behavior. How’s your spattergroit treating you, by the way?”

“That’s different!” Ron insisted, rounding on Hermione with a furious look on his face.

“How? How is that different, Ron?”

“Because…” Ron searched frantically for an answer in his head, but to no avail. All he could do was look at Hermione hoping she’d just know – she’d just understand – why she couldn’t go with him and Harry. She had to.

“Brilliant, answer, Ron,” Hermione said, as Ron realized just how closely they were standing to one another Through the heat of their disagreement, it almost felt like they were worlds apart.

“Hermione, you just…you can’t do anything that’ll get you caught by the Ministry. I won’t let you.”

“You won’t let me?” Hermione practically shrieked, her state of fury evident in the distortion of her face and the redness of her cheeks. “And what is that supposed to mean? First off, do you think I’m just going to go waltzing into the Ministry as I am? Didn’t you hear that part about using the cloak?”

“How do you know that there isn’t anyone at the Ministry that has some ability to see through the cloak?”

“You know perfectly well, Ron, that nobody can see through Harry’s cloak! Listen to yourself! You’re making no sense right now!”

“Hark who’s talking!” Ron shouted back. “You just found out that you’re probably being investigated by the Ministry and you’re thinking of walking right into trouble!”

A pause ensued between them and Hermione’s livid eyes glared at Ron, giving him the sort of look that would ordinarily have prompted him to drop it. This time, however, he wouldn’t.

He was on her side, even if she wasn’t.

It was like the book said – sometimes girls don’t even realize what a dangerous situation they’re putting themselves in. If she wasn’t going to awaken to this reality herself, then he’d do it for her.

“Do you think I want to see anything happen to you?” Ron asked, feeling himself shake at the thought of it. “You said yourself that it was horrible at the wedding when you didn’t know where I was. So, what, you’re allowed to ask me to make promises – you’re allowed to insist that I stay by you and stop your worry, but I’m not? I’m not permitted to be worried about you?”

His concern didn’t seem to shake Hermione’s position on the matter. She looked as though she was determined to stick to her plan, and that nothing Ron said would make her budge.

“You also said that there are times when you can’t promise anything,” Hermione reminded him. “This is one of those times.”

“Hermione -” Ron started, eager to do what he had to – lecture, reason, beg – if it meant that she’d just listen to reason. She, however, didn’t want to hear it.

“I want you to listen to me,” Hermione said, reminding him very much of a parent addressing a child. “Listen closely, because I’m saying this once and the conversation is over. If you and Harry are going to the Ministry of Magic, I am going with you. I will do everything that you and Harry are doing just like I said that I would back in June. I did not give up my parents, my schooling and my life to stand on the side and watch you and Harry do everything while I act like a useless lump.”

“But –”

“You,” Hermione said, jabbing her finger into his chest, “will never use my words against me again, particularly when I spoke those words to you because I trusted you, because I thought I could talk to you about things without the threat of you throwing them back in my face.”

“Oh hell, Hermione, I didn’t mean –”

“You will stop treating me like some delicate flower that needs to be left alone. Let me remind you that Dumbledore knew us; I’m sure he knew we’d be going with Harry, otherwise he wouldn’t have left us what he did in his will. He would not have encouraged our going along with him if he thought I was too weak to handle it.”

“I don’t think you’re weak!” Ron interrupted. He was starting to become so aggravated it was almost blinding him in frustration. She was putting words into his mouth; the book had no suggestions for that, did it?

“Then why don’t you…”

“For the same reason you worry about Harry all the time. I happen to care about you. I’m sorry if that’s such a bloody damper on your existence! Maybe if I were Harry, I’d be allowed to express some concern every now and then!”

“If you do care about me, then you’ll be on my side here, Ron,” Hermione replied, ignoring Ron’s last statement.

Ron looked at her. For a girl that wasn’t especially tall or strong, she had a fire in her that he knew would likely protect her if she was faced with danger. The extent of that protection was beyond Ron, because, thankfully, he’d never seen her having to fend for herself without the assistance of several other people alongside her.

He wanted to just tell her it was okay, just agree with her without a feeling of doubt. He found it nearly impossible to do that, though. Somehow, in his mind, whether or not there was any truth to his belief or not, Hermione had become his. His what, he didn’t know exactly, as the nature of their relationship got more confusing each moment, but, nevertheless, she was his in some way. He felt responsible for whatever happened to her, and if anybody ever found out where she was and did anything to harm her at all, he knew he’d never forgive himself. He had to at least try stopping that from happening in whatever way possible.

“I am on your side,” Ron said. “On the side that wants to see you alive and well. I’m sorry if you’d prefer to be mangled and mistreated.”

“What makes you think that I’m automatically going to get caught?” Hermione asked. “You don’t think I’ll be prepared if I’m faced with something unpleasant?”

“No. I don’t think I’ll be prepared if you’re faced with something unpleasant.”

“Well, this isn’t about you, is it?” Hermione asked. Ron sighed, furious that his hopes of her being touched by his concern and hope for her wellbeing were being dashed with greater force at each word Hermione uttered.

“No.”

“Right. Glad we’re agreed.” Hermione threw herself into a kitchen chair and stared into space, and Ron imagined her mind was torn between her earlier planning and her annoyance with Ron.

He felt completely defeated.

He was selfish; he knew it. Yet, in gazing at Hermione’s focused expression, he found that he couldn’t help himself.

She was maddening. How could someone be so smart and simultaneously so stupid? How could someone be so poignant and, yet, so narrow and set in their ways? How could someone viewed by the world as just another plain girl be the sight for sore eyes that illuminated Ron’s visions in such a way that the thought of dimming the glow brought on by her presence was enough to make Ron want to curl up in a corner and hide? She had powers she didn’t even know about – and here he was, worried about her.

If she could do this to Ron – if she could turn him from a man to a stuttering, temperamental and juvenile maniac – then she could handle the Ministry for sure. They wouldn’t know what was hitting them.

And, yet, while Ron knew that, he still wouldn’t admit to it, because a part of him would always be screaming for her to stay out of harm’s way.

That was something he wouldn’t apologize for.

However…

“I’m sorry I brought up the other night,” Ron said quietly. “I don’t want you to think you can’t trust me.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Hermione retorted, still staring into space as though she wasn’t entirely present in the conversation.

“Well, I made a mistake. It slipped out. You know, kind of like your canaries.”

“That wasn’t a mistake,” Hermione corrected. Ron considered laughing at this, but, to his disappointment, she looked serious still. Clearly the conversation hadn’t lightened up.

“You mean, you must not have… you don’t regret…”

“I can show you again if you’re not convinced,” Hermione threatened. Ron cautiously approached her and sat across from her at the table, relieved to see that she had smiled slightly after saying that last one, although she still looked annoyed all the same.

“So…well, what was your plan?” Hermione raised her eyebrows at him in surprise.

“You mean now you’d like to hear it? You’ll allow me to…”

“Come off it, Hermione. Just…drop it, will you? Let’s just move on. What’s your plan?”

And, with that, without focusing on their unresolved disagreement any further, Hermione described to Ron what she thought would be the best plan of action for getting at Umbridge. This time, however, Ron contributed to her thoughts, sharing ideas and his insight regarding the Department of Mysteries. He knew as he spoke that this was a plan with a million different things that could go wrong, a plan that would likely take weeks to effectively set up, only to be carried out in the most cautious of ways.

Yes. Ron would go along with this. He would be on her side; wouldn’t be selfish enough to allow his feelings for her to dictate his opinion on what she was or wasn’t capable of.

Or, in any case, he would try.

He was sure he would falter in his goal now and again, still not entirely convinced that she should be putting herself in a situation where she could be discovered. He was certain he’d try talking her out of it at some point in the future.

But, all the same, he would try.

She had to know that he was on her side.

Whether she knew it or not – whether she liked it or not – he would always be on her side.


	7. Birthday Wishes, Birthday Gifts

Rule # 6

When You’re Together, Show that you Know Her and Respect her Feelings by Doing What She Likes and Inviting Her to Things You Enjoy

 

Have you ever heard the Muggle expression that a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?

 

If you haven’t, take a moment to appreciate how true it is.

 

Now, consider a parallel.

 

The way to a woman’s heart is through sharing her interests.

 

One thing that men and women certainly have in common is that they both take their interests very seriously. However, while men seem content in having interests of their own and don’t feel it necessary for significant others to share in that passion as well, women seem to find this very important. A man appreciates her when he respects all the things she enjoys and makes an effort to share in her enthusiasm.

 

Does this mean that you have to lie and say that you truly enjoy everything she likes? No. However, if you’ve invested enough interest in your witch to have purchased this book, it can’t be too far a stretch to ask you to show pleasure in being able to make her happy.

 

True, you may wind up doing things you never imagined yourself doing. You may find yourself listening to chamber music at some dreadfully dull concert or spend an afternoon watching her try on different jumpers. However, the occasional decision to grin and bear it makes her so incredibly satisfied that you’ll certainly be glad you did.

 

Just don’t go for the overkill, which happens when you tend to do what she wants at every second of every day. It’s best to make these experiences special treats for her. If you participate in activities that make her happy every now and then, particularly when she knows that you’re doing it because you care for her so much, you’ll get in her good books. Majorly.

 

On the other hand, if you pretend to enjoy something to the extent where you’ll take any opportunity to prove it, you’ll eventually get bored, and so will she. It’s not as flattering, exciting or convincing for a man to pretend to like something more often than he should.

 

Also remember to reciprocate. She is willing to share her hobbies with you; show the same willingness to share your hobbies with her. There’s nothing more flattering to a witch than to know that she’s now allowed in on the sanctity of someone else’s hobbies, particularly when she, like most witches, likely values her own so tremendously. Let her know that she’s so significant a part of your life that she’s earned that place.

________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione Granger was probably eighteen.

She imagined that she turned eighteen somewhere in the past half an hour or so. She didn’t check the time; she simply guessed because it had seemed like hours since she had retired to bed, which was about two hours after sundown.

Eighteen.

She could hardly believe it.

It became even more difficult to bear the thought that this would be the very first time her parents wouldn’t be sending her a birthday greeting. Her parents didn’t even know she existed.

She wondered if it were possible for some maternal instinct to kick in; for her mum to, somehow, through some sense of intuition, know that, somewhere, something important was happening.

But, then again, Hermione couldn’t help but feel awfully silly for having considered her birthday important. She didn’t remind Harry or Ron that her birthday was coming up, and, with the two of them so preoccupied, she didn’t know if they would even remember.

Who could blame them? There were far more important things to think about. They still had Horcruxes to find, and Hermione feared what it would be like finding them. The one Horcrux they had managed to find was simply horrible.

Especially when Ron wore it.

In fact, it seemed as though Ron wasn’t himself whenever he wore the locket. He was more like the empty shell of the Ron she knew. Gone were the looks of concern, the acts of sympathy, and the tendency to sneak in a caress or to touch her soothingly when he could. Those moments happened few and far between. He was far too moody to be the type of sensitive he was just a few weeks before.

Hermione couldn’t help but think back to that night in Grimmauld Place, where Ron held her and promised never to go too far away from her if he could help it. Yet, here he was – physically present, but his mind so far gone that Hermione felt that he had already broken his promise to her.

Then, again, it seemed obvious that Ron couldn’t entirely help what he was doing. Hermione stayed firm on this point after having worn the locket herself and feeling a cold state of emptiness each time she did. She was the last person to put it on before Harry, who was wearing it as he slept a few feet from her. She closed her eyes and remembered how angry it made her feel at him for leading them into the countryside without a plan. She had spoken to Ron about it in hushed tones while Harry was outside keeping watch, and she felt completely ashamed of what she had said. For some reason, with the locket on, her fleeting disappointments at their lack of progress seemed to be relenting issues that dominated her every thought.

And the thoughts of Ron…

She’d stare at Ron and consider him the most evil git in the universe; fixate on how lazy he was, remember how badly he had hurt her last year, and ponder why on earth she had feelings for him.

She hated that locket.

Anything that could make her feel that way about Ron and Harry was worth destroying as soon as they could manage it.

That would be her birthday wish!

If she couldn’t have a greeting from her parents, receive any gifts or have even the slightest of celebrations, she could make a wish for herself.

She closed her eyes…

 

“I want that awful locket destroyed,” she wished to herself. “I want it gone and I want us to find the rest and destroy them, too. And I want the three of us to carry on and live in peace for once.”

She opened her eyes, and, for reasons she didn’t understand entirely, felt hopeful.

Then she turned to Ron.

He looked so sweet laying there, his temper tame and his thoughts drifting away from everything that had made him moody in the last few weeks. For a moment, Hermione imagined that, if she reached out and touched him, she would share in whatever peace he was feeling.

She slowly reached her hand out a few inches away from her to where Ron lay, and let her fingers slowly touch his soft, ginger hair. He stirred ever so slightly, still asleep, but seemingly unaware that something was different. She quickly pulled her hand back. Then, seeing that he remained lost in his dreams, she ran her fingers through his hair again.

Her nerve got the better of her.

“I know that person isn’t you,” Hermione heard herself whisper, looking into his face and hoping that, on some unconscious level, he could hear her. “That person that comes out when you put the locket on. You’re better than that. You know it.”

His face remained in the same peaceful, unperturbed state it was in previously. She pulled her hand back and smiled at him. It was so simple to talk to him when he couldn’t react; when he couldn’t argue or give her that look that made her blush. She wished that she could muster up the courage to talk to him like this when he was fully awake; to share all of her thoughts with him and let him know exactly how he made her feel.

She closed her eyes again.

A second birthday wish couldn’t hurt…

“I wish I could have him,” she thought to herself. “Have him the way he truly is; have him when this is all over and things are back to normal. Next to getting out of this alive, I want him more than anything in the world.”

She kept her eyes shut, breathing in and out, imagining how wonderful it would be to have her wish come true until her mind wandered off to sleep.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione’s eyes opened to a ray of warm sunlight stinging her eyes as it peered into the tent from a small opening. She sat up quickly to check that everything was all right and saw that the boys were gone.

Jumping up quickly, she frantically reached for her wand and stood up.

“Ron?” She called, walking towards the open flap. “Harry? Where are you?”

As soon as she reached the tent flap, she saw Ron standing a few feet away talking to Harry. Relief filled her body and she felt herself sigh deeply. How could they have just left the tent without letting her know where they were?

Harry placed the invisibility cloak on himself and walked off as Ron stood, holding the locket.

“Oh, please…please don’t put that on!” Hermione thought to herself. Ron stared at the locket, inner conflict clear on his face as he started walking back to the tent.

“Where’s Harry going?” Hermione asked, hoping to distract Ron enough to stop him from putting the locket on.

“Off to get some food,” Ron replied. Hermione felt great relief at this; at this particular stop, they had managed to gather more food than at others, for there were a number of country homes with farms nearby. The previous night they enjoyed eggs and vegetables. There were even a few eggs left for the morning, which left Hermione relieved as she felt her stomach rumble and realized she was feeling hungry.

But first things first…

“I suppose it’s my turn to wear this,” Ron said, looking down at the locket. Hermione felt herself think something rather dishonest, and felt pretty bad about it. Yet, she knew that if she managed it, it would be for the greater good.

“Ron, we’re going to be in the tent together guarding the Horcrux, right? Well, what if, maybe, you just…put it in a safe place? At least until Harry gets back. Then you can put it on straight away.”

Ron gazed at Hermione with a surprised expression. It certainly wasn’t like her to suggest doing anything that underhanded. Hermione knew it, too; she was surprised enough at herself. However, examining the look on Ron’s face, she imagined that he was in complete agreement.

“You…I mean, you wouldn’t tell Harry or…”

“Of course not!” Hermione quickly replied. “I just think, you know, it’s better for you. I’ve seen how you act with the locket on.”

“Trust me, I know,” Ron muttered, looking down at the locket as though he wanted nothing more than to throw it as far away from himself as possible. “Well, all right, then, you don’t have to ask me twice! Let’s find a good spot for the damn thing until Harry comes back.”

The two of them went back into the tent and decided to keep the locket alongside them as Hermione quickly prepared the eggs for them. They ate quietly for a few minutes, Hermione looking at The Tales of Beedle the Bard for Horcrux-related hints while Ron clicked his Deluminator, gazing in it at curiosity.

“Funny thing,” Ron said, gazing at it in awe.

“Hm?” Hermione asked, still looking at her book.

“Sometimes the Deluminator will light up, and other times, I’ll just feel warm.”

Hermione’s eyes looked away from her book and gazed at Ron. How could the Deluminator have made him feel warm? Was the Horcrux affecting him worse than she imagined? Did it have hallucinatory affects?

“Warm?” Hermione asked. “How could that be?”

“I don’t know,” Ron said.

“Well, are you noticing precisely when it feels warm? Maybe it’s just when you wear the Horcrux; it could be because of the locket.”

“N-no, actually,” Ron noted, looking down and turning red for some reason.

“What?”  
“I feel it…when it’s just you and me.”

Hermione felt herself turn red and wondered what that could possibly mean. Maybe it wasn’t the Deluminator at all.

“Curious,” Hermione quietly said.

“Yeah,” Ron said, clicking it and seeing a light shine. “Funny; it looks almost like a candle sometimes.” Suddenly, Ron’s expression changed to one of guilt or surprise; it was hard to determine which it was. His head jerked to Hermione, his blue eyes appearing worried.

“Hermione! It’s your birthday today!”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile, pleased that he had remembered.

“Yes it is. Some birthday, right?”

“Well, we’ve got to do something for you!” Ron insisted, putting the Deluminator down. “You don’t turn eighteen every day!”

“Ron, what on Earth could we possibly do for my birthday? We’re in the middle of the countryside in hiding and we can barely manage to get dinner for ourselves.”

“Well, for one, you should not be working on your birthday!” Hermione felt herself giggle; she couldn’t help but find amusement at how utterly naïve Ron could be sometimes.

“It’s not like we’re in an office or something! I can’t just take the day off!”

“But, even so –”

“Besides,” Hermione continued, looking down at her book. “I kind of like these stories. It’s hard to concentrate on Horcruxes when some of the tales in here are so interesting. Wizard fairy tales are very similar to Muggle versions; it almost reminds me of when my parents used to read them to me.”

It was the first mention she had made of her parents in months, and speaking about them out loud made Hermione realize how much she missed them on her birthday.

Ron looked at Hermione nervously, as though he knew just as much as she did how sensitive a topic discussing her parents would become.

“In fact, it was ten years ago,” Hermione continued. “I was turning eight. My mum got me a fairy tale book called The Little Mermaid. I read it dozens of times. Then when I went to sleep, my dad read it to me again.”

It turned awkwardly quiet. Hermione felt Ron’s concerned eyes on her as she looked down at The Tales of Beedle the Bard and forced herself not to cry. This was no place for her to lose her head. Harry was depending upon her.

She felt Ron’s hand softly caress her back as he leaned in towards her. It had been weeks since he had shown her this sort of affection, and had taken more to treating her with harsh coldness. She missed the feel of his hand against her; savored it, for she knew it would be a while before she felt it again.

“That’s what I could do for your birthday,” Ron suggested, his voice sounding nervous.

“What?”

“Would you…would you like me to read to you?”

Hermione looked at him in surprise. Ron had never before taken an interest in any of the books Hermione suggested, let alone shown the initiative to share in the act of reading them with her. Words couldn’t express how touched she was at his gesture.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Ron said, looking embarrassed as though he had made a poor suggestion. “You could use a break. Besides, if your parents can’t be here…”

His voice trailed off as he looked down, clearly seeking to avoid her gaze out of the fear that she disapproved. She looked at him as she reached for his hand, and he looked up at her hopefully.

“I’d love it if you read to me,” Hermione said, smiling. He smiled back and took the book from her.

“All right,” Ron said. Hermione’s hand still in his, he led her over to a sleeping bag.

“You lay down, just like you would for your dad,” Ron said, pointing to the sleeping bag. “I’ll sit right by you.”

Hermione settled herself on top of her sleeping bag, feeling a bit silly, but content all the same. She softly let her head rest upon her pillow, as Ron sat cross legged alongside her, gazing at her with the book in his lap.

“Which one would you like?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, thinking. Then she turned back to him. “Well, which was your favorite?”

“Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump.”

Hermione giggled. “Naturally,” she teased.

“Oh, come off it,” he insisted. “Like your fairy tales are so bloody normal. Cinderwhatever…”

“Cinderella.”

“Her, too,” Ron muttered. “Well, I’m about to put your Cinder whoever to shame.” He turned to the book, fumbled through its pages, finally stopping on one, and began. “Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump. Once upon a time, there was a soft, fuzzy white rabbit named Babbity Rabbity. Babbity Rabbity was a good rabbit, but she seldom thought so. She was the youngest of a family of six rabbits. Roxy was fast, Pimsy was handsome, Rocky was clever…”

Hermione sat and listened in complete contentment as Ron vividly recounted the story of Babbity Rabbity, who was often overshadowed by her siblings and teased about it by her cackling stump until, one day, her loyalty to her siblings caused her to save them from a terrible fox and stopped the cackling stump’s taunting. It occurred to Hermione why Ron liked this story so much; Babbity Rabbity was quite a lot like him. He, too, wanted attention, sought out approval and so often compared himself to his brothers. Being an only child herself, she couldn’t imagine that level of competition or the insecurity that preceded it. As he read, she saw the expression on his face grow warmer, almost as though the ending of this story brought him a sense of relief that he always associated with it.

As he finished, he looked up at her.

“Well, what did you think?”

Hermione smiled at him, both happy that he had been willing to give her such a wonderful birthday gift and touched that he had allowed her to see a piece of his own childhood.

“I think Babbity Rabbity’s kind of silly.”

Ron turned red as his face fell.

“Well I’m sorry it isn’t as…”

“No, no, the story’s wonderful,” Hermione said. “It’s just…the character’s silly.”

“Are you mental?” Ron asked, and Hermione couldn’t help but grin at the prospect of him taking a character named “Babbity Rabbity” that seriously. “She’s brilliant! That fox didn’t know what was coming!”

“Yes, that was clever of her,” Hermione replied. “It’s just…I don’t understand what was so wrong with her in the first place. She should realize what a wonderful character she is. She should know…” Hermione looked meaningfully at Ron, hoping he would realize she wasn’t only talking about Babbity Rabbity. “Sometimes, I just think that people…or, well, bunnies in this case, should know how good they are and stop trying to be like their brothers and sisters.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ron replied, clearly still annoyed that she didn’t seem to appreciate his favorite character. “Lucky for you, you haven’t had any brothers and sisters, and if you had, you would have driven them all mad. We can’t all be as clever as you, can we?”

“Oh, yes, I feel awfully clever,” Hermione muttered, turning away from Ron. “I’ve been studying these fairy tales for weeks and I still don’t know why Dumbledore gave them to me.”

“Because I’ve been brilliant at working out the Deluminator’s purpose,” Ron added. “Don’t take it so hard, Hermione. It’s not like he made it obvious for us, did he?”

“No. He didn’t.”

“Yes, well, enough worry about that,” Ron said. “It’s still your birthday and I’d still like to read to you if you’d like.”

“I would,” Hermione replied. “But Harry will be back soon and we really should get focused. We’ve got lots to think about. And, since he’ll likely return at any moment, I think you should put the locket back on now.”

They both turned to the Horcrux fearfully, watching it gleam on the table where they had eaten as though it were any innocent piece of jewelry. Ron looked back at Hermione, his face falling to one of fear.

“Hermione…look, I just wanted to let you know…if I say or do anything…”

“I know,” Hermione said, sitting up and taking Ron’s hand for a second time. “I’ve worn it too, Ron. Trust me, I realize what it does.”

“I just wanted to let you know,” Ron said. “I mean, you’ve been good to me. You’ve been so good…if it weren’t for you I may not have my arm the way it is.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Hermione requested, not wishing to relive the horror she felt as she healed his arm after it had been splinched.

“Anyway,” Ron continued. “I just want to apologize in advance. I know that when I put that thing on…”

He stopped mid sentence and shook his head. Hermione felt a lump form in her throat, fearful that the beautiful few moments they just shared would be completely overshadowed by Ron’s locket-inflicted behavior.

“When Harry gets back, remind him that it’s your birthday,” Ron said. “We’ll try to make dinner a little more festive tonight. Hopefully I’ll have the locket off by then.”

“A great help that’ll do, seeing as it’ll be my turn next!” Hermione pointed out. Ron rubbed her hand in his and smiled at her.

“You’ll be fine. You always are.”

How little he knew…

If he had seen what she saw when she wore the locket; if he had heard what thoughts penetrated deep into her mind, he wouldn’t have said that.

“So, before I have to put that effing thing on, I just wanted to…” Ron began, and, after giving her hand a squeeze, he very quickly and awkwardly gave her a kiss on the cheek and smiled at her. She felt warmth enter into her cheek and travel through her entire body, wishing beyond anything she could imagine that his lips could have remained on her face for a few seconds longer.

“Happy birthday, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione replied, the warmth from her face evident in the redness of her cheeks. “Thank you for my present. I loved it.”

Ron smiled and stood up, slowly approaching the Horcrux. She watched anxiously as he placed it on; watched as his expression noticeably changed from one of complete warmth to one that looked far more distant; far colder. This was the Ron she was forced to see for most of the time; this was the Ron that she had to scold and question; to avoid and fear.

The instant the locked touched Ron’s neck, Hermione started missing the Ron that just gave her the kindest birthday gift she’d ever received. She watched him, wondering; fearing what this Ron was capable of.

She’d soon find out.


	8. Promise Broken

Rule #1 – Listen

 

The very first thing we men need to know about witches is the most important – listening is key.

 

Women love to talk. They talk to each other endlessly. They talk to their mothers about everything. They are so used to a lifestyle centered around someone listening to them that it is hard for them to imagine that us regular blokes aren’t big talkers. We tend to get to the point straight away. We don’t drag and analyze. We do what we have to do and say what we have to say.

 

Do not, under any circumstances, try to get your witch to become more like us.

 

She won’t.

 

She will always be a witch; she will always have lots to say, and she’ll always convey her message in the most verbose and drawn-out way possible. Do not cut her off; do not end her story for her. Just listen.

 

Even when she isn’t on a rampage, listen anyway. It can do you good.

 

Women may slip secret codes into their dissertation length speeches to suggest to you what they would like instead of flat out saying it. For instance, let’s suppose your witch’s birthday is coming up. Women could make life so much easier if they were to simply say, “Dear, my birthday is coming up and I would like that new jumper I saw in the shop the other day.” But, no, witches don’t operate like that. Instead they may say something along the lines of, “What would you like for dinner tonight? Oh, I would love to go down to the restaurant alongside the shop with that really pretty sweater in the window. Yes. Maybe we could go back there for my birthday.” Ever the sneaks, they are.

 

On a more serious note, though, listening comes in handy when there is a crisis. Often times, in the midst of an argument, men and women will misunderstand each other. This is one of those rare occasions that men may be as irrational as women, because I know few of us who like to be nagged by anybody. It tends to put us in a temperamental state. However, you must never forget to let go of your pride and listen to her for a moment. Us men may just articulate that we feel angry, but girls are so used to articulating everything that they could really spell out for you why they are arguing in the heat of a battle. So listen to them. It will save a lot of time and trouble that you’d spend ignoring her and going back and forth in your feud.

 

“Ron!”

Hermione felt the air in her lungs push its way out with strength she didn’t even imagine she was capable of producing. Her head spinning, the pouring rain cascading down on her and drenching her to the bone, she focused only on the head of ginger hair in front of her, which was furiously running and becoming a blur before her eyes.

This could not be him; she knew it! If only he would have listened to her; if only he would take a moment to gather his thoughts now that the Horcrux was off! She knew that once the effects of the locket wore off, everything would be all right.

And, yet, feeling her breaths getting shorter but running after Ron all the while anyway, panic struck her and she started to feel that things wouldn’t be okay.

“Ron, please stop!” Hermione shouted, tears falling down her face as rapidly as the raindrops falling from the furious clouds overhead. She wished he would do anything to respond; even if it was to tell her to leave him alone as he so often did. No, she didn’t even earn a retort out of him. He ran as though he didn’t even hear her.

Maybe if she used guilt…

After all, he deserved it.

He thought she chose Harry over him. What a complete fool he must have been; didn’t he realize that she had been choosing him all along? She chose to wait for Ron’s decision to accept her friendship during third year before starting to spend time with the boys again, despite having made amends with Harry first. She chose to explain Ron’s point of view to Harry in fourth year, and not the other way around. She chose to ease Ron’s concerns about Harry in the Christmas of fifth year rather than simply telling Harry he was right in behaving the way he was.

Her loyalty to Harry, her best friend, at this most pivotal time of his life, didn’t change her choices, past or present.

Right now, she was willingly running after Ron in the pouring rain, screaming her lungs out. She was choosing Ron – begging him to stay – over being in the warm with Harry.

Yes. Guilt would work…

“Ron, you promised me!” Hermione shouted, running faster and nearly catching up with him. “You remember? You promised you wouldn’t leave if you could help it! Ron, don’t…”

With a pop, the ginger hair and the figure beneath it vanished.

“Ron!” she continued shouting, all sense of reason lost along with him. “Ron, come back! You promised me!”

She knew well that he couldn’t hear her, but that bit of hope inside of her that longed for him to reappear as quickly as he disappeared won out in the end.

“Come back, Ron!” she heard herself scream in a voice so shrill she barely recognized it as her own. “Come back!”

She let the weight of her emotions fall down upon her, kneeling down and letting the rain attack her as forcefully as the metaphoric slap in the face that Ron just thrust upon her.

Where did he go?

Was he all right?

How would he know if they were all right?

How could he have just left them like this?

Then, the scariest thought of all…

…would she ever see him again?

It was quite possible that something would happen to him or to her, and neither one would have had a proper chance to say goodbye.

Shaking and dizzy from the overwhelming outpouring of her emotions, Hermione very slowly got up and started heading back to the tent. She couldn’t shake the empty feeling inside of her.

Why couldn’t he have even looked at her before he left? She longed to go back a few moments and get at least one last look at his blue eyes; force it herself if he didn’t want to acknowledge her. It was as though she were vapor; as though she wasn’t the girl he had once protected like she was his girl.

Like his girl…

What a sad and pathetic joke their relationship had become. What a complete arse Hermione was, thinking for a sad, solitary second that, perhaps, Ron felt for her as she did for him. There was no way that would be possible. Even with the locket on for days, Hermione would never even thinking of walking out on Ron – the thought hadn’t even come close to crossing her mind. She could never bring him pain like she was feeling. She could never do something so selfish that would hurt him so badly.

And she thought he wouldn’t either. She thought she meant more to him than that.

How could she have possibly believed for a second that there was anything more to his behavior than his desire to seek out more companionship in the absence of a certain Lavender Brown? Hermione would do as long as she was there. However, she couldn’t possibly have been as significant in Ron’s mind as he was in hers. She couldn’t possibly have dominated every thought in his mind, every dream in his head.

If she had, then why was he gone?

Gone.

Ron – her Ron – was gone. Forever. It would just be her and Harry.

And Ron was off, thinking that Hermione and Harry would be having some right cozy time together. What a ridiculous thought; how could he think so little of her? Did he think that she could ever hurt Ginny like that? Even worse, did he have such little faith in his best friend that he truly believed Harry would hurt Ginny and betray Ron?

The thought of Ron envisioning this delusion elsewhere made Hermione want to smack something or someone. She wished for a fleeting moment that Draco would come by, just so she’d have an outlet to release her anger.

Even worse, Hermione seethed at the hypocrisy of it all. If Ron was so concerned about who was choosing him, why on Earth would he behave in such an insensitive way? Why wouldn’t he earn her if he wanted him to choose her so badly?

But, then again, what was she to him? Was she worth earning? Obviously, if she couldn’t even win feelings in her closest friend feeble enough to get him to stay by her, there wasn’t much of a prize there to begin with. She was just bushy haired, buck toothed Granger, like everyone always said.

She got to the tent and thrust the flap open, her hands shaking in hurt and anger. Harry turned to her in a state of anger and surprise. Yet, being Harry, he managed to show some concern, and Hermione realized the state she must have been in. She had been walking in the rain and crying her eyes out for the past few minutes.

“He’s g-g-gone!” Hermione heard herself say in a thick, nasal voice. “Disapparated!”

Speaking took too much out of her, and Hermione doubted Harry wanted to discuss it anyway, so she stopped at that. She threw herself into the chair closest to her and felt her body curl, imagining the feel of Ron’s arms around her the last time she allowed herself to cry like this. She hugged herself, thinking of him – of what may have happened to him if he Disapparated to a particularly dangerous place, and pretended for a moment that her own arms were Ron’s instead.

She felt guilty behaving like this in front of Harry, for she knew that he, like Ron, was not exactly a natural master at comforting women. She felt her body shake, feeling almost manic and out of control with despair, losing herself in her overwhelming emotion.

A few moments later, Hermione felt herself covered with a warm layer, and realized how soaking wet she was. Her hair was dripping water all over the blanket that covered her. She turned to Harry to thank him only to find that he was lying down and lost in his own thoughts.

How could Ron have done this to her?

Worse still, how could Ron have done this to Harry? Harry needed them both more than either one of them needed the other, and Ron walked away from him. At this point, he was far more important than whatever awkward feelings Hermione and Ron had towards one another; she thought he’d see that.

After all they’d been through.

If he ever came back to her, she didn’t know how she could ever forgive him…

________________________________________________________________________

Ron never had a worse Christmas morning in his entire life.

He wasn’t with his parents. He wasn’t with Fred, George and Ginny. He wasn’t with Harry or Hermione. Hell, he was certain that both Harry and Hermione hated him, and if the others found out about what he’d done, they’d surely hate him, too.

He hated himself enough for everyone at the moment.

The sound of Hermione’s wailing voice echoed in his ears. He heard her call for him and felt himself ignore her. He relived the selfish anger that consumed him because of that bloody locket. How could he have been stupid enough to act so rashly knowing how the locket affected him?

“You promised me!”

 

He had disappointed yet another person in his life. He was getting pretty sick of mastering the skill.

He checked the news repeatedly through a variety of sources – newspapers, radio, and, still, no sign of Harry or Hermione. He imagined that news involving either one would have surely made it to whatever news broadcast was available. They had to be okay. He told himself that.

Ron’s contemplation of the news was disturbed by a knock on the door.

“Ron?” Ron heard his brother Bill softly calling from outside. Bill had been so incredible over the last few days. Not once did he pass judgment on Ron. Not once was he sure to remind him what a prat he was. Nope, Bill just listened.

Listened…

Something Ron should have done.

“Come in,” Ron said. Bill came in cautiously, watching Ron to see how he was feeling before initiating a conversation. Although Bill was tough and rebellious, he tended to have an occasional soft spot for his youngest siblings.

“You okay?” Bill asked.

No.

Ron was most certainly not okay.

He just abandoned the two most important people in his life; the only two people outside of his immediate family that made him feel like he was worth more than a sickle. He was a bloody coward and a complete fool, and the woman he loved more than anything else on the planet probably now despised him in ways he didn’t want to begin imagining.

“I’m all right,” Ron muttered.

Bill, unconvinced, walked closer to Ron’s bed.

“Ron…look, if you’re so upset about this, why don’t you try Apparating back to wherever you were and…”

“It’s not that simple,” Ron cut in, hoping to cut the conversation of their mission short before he slipped out more to Bill than he cared to share.

“Well, isn’t there any way you can find them? Had you three planned that out?”

“No,” Ron said, avoiding Bill’s gaze. There was a pause. Bill looked around the room, searching for the right words to say, and then looked back at Ron, his blue eyes full of concern.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“What?” Ron asked, attempting to convince even himself that he had no idea what Bill was talking about.

“Her. That’s what’s got you so down. You’re worried about her. Hermione.” Ron felt himself awkwardly giggle and turn away. Like Bill – perfect, good looking, cool Bill - could possibly understand what it felt like to long for someone. He got Fleur Delacour without batting an eyelash. He never had to struggle and fuss to try to win a woman’s affections.

“Yeah, well, I’ve screwed that one up, haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Bill replied, gazing at Ron hopefully.

Bill’s hope was contagious.

Ron turned to him, hoping that there was more to this message than optimism; that Bill’s natural keen logic was behind this assumption as well.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she called after you, didn’t she?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, and a bloody lot of good that did,” Ron muttered. “I acted like a total git and ignored her.”

“Ron…honestly, do you think you’re the only person in the world that’s done that?” Bill asked. “I think that Hermione’s smart enough to know that your priorities are in the right order. You made a mistake.”

Ron laughed. Bill was so naïve. He had no idea what Hermione was like, did he?

“Hermione? Hermione Granger? You’re telling me that Hermione Granger is going to forgive me?”

“Hey, look, I didn’t promise it’d be instantaneous…but, I mean, really, Ron, from what I’ve heard from Fred and George and what I’ve seen myself, how many fights have the two of you gotten into in the past six years?”

“Nothing like this,” Ron said, looking away from Bill again. “And Harry…I mean, he’s my best mate. How could I…what the bloody hell was I thinking?”

“You weren’t. It happens to the best of us,” Bill reassured Ron, placing his hand on Ron’s shoulder.

“Never to you.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Bill said, now turning away from Ron. “I mean, I’ve gotten into my fair share of arguments with Fleur. Merlin knows I have. We just don’t discuss it with other people; keep it to ourselves, you know.”

“That’s why you’re the smart one,” Ron said. “If I were smart I’d keep my sodding feelings to myself, too.”

Ron felt a lump form in his throat as he thought of Hermione and Harry; the thought of the two of them facing danger and him being unable to help brought him to a state of guilt he never imagined possible. He wished for a minute that he had put an Unforgivable Curse on himself rather than Apparating. He surely would have deserved it.

And Hermione…if anything happened to her, and he never let her know how much he cared about her, he would never be able to live with himself.

Not that she’d believe him. Not now, anyway.

Ron turned his head away from Bill, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tears starting to form in his eyes. It wasn’t exactly a testament to his bravery for Ron to cry, and, yet, that’s all he felt like doing. Like a little bloody girl. A baby.

How could Hermione ever have felt anything for him?  
“You’ve got Dad’s genes, you have,” Bill said, who, much to Ron’s relief, was trying to lighten the mood with jokes. “Don’t speak up, keep things to yourself, then when you’ve cracked, you’ve cracked. Kind of like that story Mum told about Dad knocking Lucius Malfoy to the floor in the book shop a few years ago.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ron replied, still turned away and trying his best to smile at the memory of it.

“Well, it hasn’t stopped Mum from loving him, has it? And Hermione’s as close to Mum as you’re ever going to get.” Ron fearfully glared at Bill.

“You can’t be serious. This isn’t exactly helping, here.”

“It’s not a bad thing; it’s just that I see similarities. I mean, think about it. Hermione’s stubborn…”

“As a mule,” Ron said, trying to sound disgusted but missing her as he said each word all the same.

“Smart…”

“To an annoying extent,” Ron added. “She’s always right. Always. She doesn’t want to hear any opinion that isn’t her own.”

“But, blimey, when a woman like that is on your side, you know you’ve got nothing to fear.”

It was true.

Bill was absolutely right.

With either his mum or Hermione on his side, he didn’t feel afraid.

And, yet, here he was.

Hermione certainly wasn’t on his side.

Whoever’s side Mrs. Weasley would be on, Ron guessed it wouldn’t be his.

“I…I think I’m just going to relax a little,” Ron said, in the politest way possible, hoping Bill would give him a few minutes. Bill nodded respectfully, and smiled at Ron.

“Just don’t kill yourself, eh? Blimey, you’re my baby brother, after all. Can’t have that rubbish from you. I promised I’d train you to be a man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron replied, forcing a smile. Bill gave him a mix between what seemed to be a pat on the back, an embrace and a high five, all in one, leaving Ron feeling the first bit of comfort he’d allowed himself to feel in quite a while.

Left alone, he turned on the radio, listening for a signal; for news of some sort. Something to assist in his desire to be productive. Then, he picked up his Deluminator. He gave it a quick glance, then put it back in his pocket.

Bloody piece of junk it was.

What had it done? It hadn’t stopped his temper from exploding. It hadn’t given him, Harry or Hermione any clues. It hadn’t prevented that group of Snatchers from taking him and tearing his fingernails off, had it? It hadn’t…

“Remember Ron? When he broke his wand…”

Wait a minute…

He wasn’t imagining that.

He couldn’t have been imagining that.

As sure as he knew his hair was red and his brother was Bill, he knew he had just heard Hermione’s voice.

Hope flooded through Ron like water through a broken dam, as he reached for the source of the sound in his pocket. His Deluminator. It seemed to make no sense at all, but he could have sworn he heard her through the Deluminator.

Instinct screamed at him. It was time to take action.

He clicked it…

Everything in his room went black.

Yet, despite the current state of darkness, Ron noticed a light.

It shone outside his window. It was a blue ball of light; the color of the Caribbean Sea, pulsing before him. Looking at it brought him a sense of security, though what, he wasn’t entirely sure. He stared at it, hovering in thin air, wondering what it would do.

Before he realized what he was doing, he abruptly shoved his shoes onto his feet, threw on his rucksack, and headed out for the yard. He attempted to tiptoe so that neither Bill nor Fleur would be disturbed by this. He had a feeling that neither of them were supposed to see what he saw.

He went to the spot that seemed to be directly beneath the blue light, listening to the waves crash furiously against the shore in the distance. He barely noticed the cold of the early winter air piercing his skin like a thousand needles stabbing into his body. All that mattered was that he found that light, approached it, figured out what it had to do with her.

And he knew it had something to do with her. He just knew it.

Just as he was thinking this, the blue light suddenly moved. Before Ron knew what was happening, he watched the blue light become brighter and felt its warmth as it rapidly approached him. Then, in an instant, it seemed to almost go through him.

He looked down as he felt an immense feeling of heat in his chest.

He had never felt anything like this in his entire life. He closed his eyes, taking it all in. A little piece inside of him, illogical and inexperienced in such matters as it was, told him that if he Disapparated, he could find her. He could hold her. He could be near her again.

The warmth ensued inside of him, like a fireplace warming up a damp and cold room. Before he even thought about what he was doing, there was a loud snap…

He had gone for her.

He would make this right…


	9. The First Step in Repairing the Rift

Author’s Note: I just wanted to give a note on this chapter, which involves a less than pleasant rant on Hermione’s part. I always felt that Hermione held in a lot of steam throughout the series and that, one day, she’d have a stimulus presented to her which would prompt her to release it all at once. I felt it was important, particularly if she and Ron are seriously about to pursue a relationship, that Hermione begin to open up to Ron about her issues instead of sending flocks of canaries at him or punching him. In reading The Deathly Hallows, I always had a picture in my head that Ron’s departure and return was that stimulus and that, somewhere unbeknownst to us, Ron heard what Hermione had to say about it.. So here’s my interpretation.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Rule # 9

If She’s in a Bad Mood, Allow Her to Blow Off Some Steam Before Reacting

 

Witches are scary.

 

Angry witches are terrifying.

 

Angry witches who become angrier at the onset of an argument – the worst of all.

 

How does one handle the horrors of a furious witch? Where do you begin?

 

Trust me on this one – you don’t. You let her explode. Let her scream, let her yell, let her pull her hair out of her head and blame you for it…just wait for it to be over. Do not argue. Do not make her even angrier. Just allow her to blow off some steam.

 

This is not to say that you just cave in when the object of your affections is absolutely wrong. Oh, no, sir. You still stick to your guns. This is just to suggest that you don’t fire quite yet.

 

To create a metaphor, a witch is an earthquake. You play two roles - that of the Earth’s core beneath it and that of the Earth’s crust above it. As the Earth’s core, you’ve done something to perpetuate this rift. You may not have meant to, or maybe you did, but it is likely because of you that she is so furious. Then, as she responds by shaking, trembling and initiating her wrath of destruction, your position changes to that of the Earth’s crust. Each building placed upon you is an argument you present in your defense. It may seem productive to build and build, but you should proceed with caution. It’s not exactly brilliant to build cities on a fault line. If you try that, you’re bound to find that everything you’ve taken months to build will come crashing down before you can say, “What?”

 

However, if you don’t build anything at all in advance, you’re giving yourself a clear foundation on which to build once her Earth shattering fit is over.

 

Let her fume. Let her attempt to destroy you. If you leave her with nothing to destroy, you’re allowing her to let go of that build-up tension and saving yourself some time and resources.

 

Yes, the Earth will still quake.

 

But, no, it will not cause a lot of damage. True, there will always be a mark as evidence of her wrath, and a possible rift in the foundation you established before. Yet, assuming that the force of your inner core workings was not so severe that you’ve established a rift of monumental proportions, it will be possible to rebuild. You can do this much faster if you don’t present anything else that could add to the damage that’s been inflicted.

 

However, I’m warning you now…

 

You must be aware of what you did while you were still the core of the Earth. It’s quite possible that what you did was inexcusable. Just as we can’t blame the Earth’s fault lines for the inner workings of the core, nor can we blame a witch for reacting emotionally to a poor decision on your part. Do not deny playing that role. The best and most honest thing that you can possibly do is to simply apologize.

 

That said, before any of this ever happens, before you even act, think about the outcome. Before you do something that will cause the inevitable disaster that will ensue, realize what’s coming.

 

When you are the cause of that monumental mistake, every waking day of your life will be spent reflecting upon how you had this phenomenal girl and you let her go, and how the complete disintegration of your relationship can be attributed to you.

 

Can you live with that?

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione gazed out into the open fields around her, trying her best to let the fact that she was on watch distract her from the dozens of other thoughts in her mind.

Time was crazy. In a matter of 4 days, Ron had managed to find her and Harry, they’d gone to find Xenophilius Lovegood, they found out poor Luna was in serious trouble, they’d almost gotten killed for the fifth time that year…

Everything was insane.

Most insane of all, as overjoyed as she was that Ron was back with her and Harry, Hermione didn’t know if it was possible for her to ever forgive him. How could she? She trusted him and he left her high and…

“Hermione,” she heard a voice softly whisper. She turned to him, admittedly not as annoyed as she was a few days ago (especially after Ron had been so supportive of everything she suggested, from seeing Xenophilius to sticking to the Horcruxes instead of fixating on the Hallows). She didn’t know what she should do. Should she acknowledge him? They hadn’t exactly made amends, had they?

“I’m on watch, Ron,” Hermione replied, turning away from him. That piece inside of her that still felt pain beyond anything she’d ever experienced at his choice to abandon her started to swell within her.

“So I’m guessing we’re good now,” Ron said, his hopeful blue eyes examining her. “After everything that happened today. I mean, Lovegood and…”

“Why would that make you guess we’re good now?” Hermione interrupted, still refusing to look at him. One look at his hopeful blue eyes and she knew she may weaken. She couldn’t. She was tired of giving in to him.

“Well…I mean, after escaping Xenophilius and…”

“You assume too much,” Hermione said, turning again to the field. Ron, just as persistent as Hermione was at this point, sat on the ground alongside the chair in which she was sitting. He looked up at her hopefully, innocently, like a child pleading to his mother. She didn’t know whether to hug him or shoo him.

“Hermione, please,” he said, his soft voice, cute to an irritating extent. “I know I hurt you. I know. I just think we should move past this. If there’s anything I can do…anything at all…”

“You can’t,” Hermione snapped, her anger starting to swell even more as she suddenly reached a point of anger she hadn’t hit in her entire life. “You can’t do anything, Ron. You’ve done enough!”

She turned to him, considering that this may be a low blow, but he seemed prepared to take it. His look almost challenged her to ask him a little more.

“Do you know…I mean, Ron, can you imagine how I was feeling?”

“It was no picnic for me, either,” Ron muttered, and Hermione’s stern face clouded over the entire scene.

She would not take this.

She would not allow Ronald Weasley to stand here and feel sorry for himself. Not after all that he’d put her through. After leaving, after Lavender, after all the times he hurt her and made her miserable…he couldn’t.

“That’s rich. That’s…you can be so thick sometimes, Ron!” Hermione shouted, ignoring the fact that Harry was sleeping and that she could have quite possibly woken him up. In an instant, she grabbed her wand and placed a silencing charm around them. She had lots to say, and she wasn’t about to let Harry stop her. “Forgive me, but, for once, I don’t want to hear about your pain. I don’t. I’ve been hearing about your problems for years. I’m tired of you acting like you’re the only one that’s allowed to feel anything! You have no idea how much you’ve hurt me.”

Ron looked at her like a fish out of water. It seemed that he wanted to say something, but then, his face was etched in concentration, like he was trying to remember something. Again. Why was he always doing that?

“I know,” Ron muttered.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Hermione insisted, staring straight into his shining blue eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. If you think this is just about this one time you couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Go on,” Ron whispered, still looking at her in concentration. “I deserve it.”

Hermione swallowed tears down her throat, annoyed beyond belief that he could just sit here and take it. Was this his way of making her feel guilty? Was this his way of warming up to her so that she wouldn’t be angry anymore? She wouldn’t stand for it.

She’d tell him what he needed to hear.

He wouldn’t hurt her any more if he knew…

“I’m just…I’m tired, Ron,” Hermione said, turning away from him. “I’m so tired. I’m sick of trying to figure you out; it’s maddening.” Before Hermione could stop herself, she felt tears starting to form in her eyes. She turned her face away. She couldn’t let him see her upset. She had to get through this. Roughly, she wiped her eyes and turned back to him.

“You were right first year, you know. I didn’t have any friends. I never really did. Well, I don’t know what it was, but there was something about you and Harry that struck me. I just had a feeling with you. I – I saw you with your mum outside the train.” Ron raised his eyebrows.

“You did?”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Hermione snapped. “Yes. I saw her wiping some dirt off your nose, and I saw you trying to get away and, I don’t know, I guess I thought to myself that I felt a bit sorry for you. To have your mum fuss over you on your first day, in front of your brothers, you must have felt a little embarrassed. But then, there you were, even after that, not afraid to go and talk to Harry Potter, while all the other kids were talking about him, and, I don’t know…there was something honest about it. I…I respected that. You just seemed different than the kids I went to school with; always gossiping and minding everyone else’s business.

“But then, of course, you didn’t like me. But, no, I told myself to keep trying. I told myself that you’d probably come along, and, maybe, you’d be as nice to me as you were to Harry. And then you were…well, after you pointed out I had no friends…”

“I didn’t mean for you to…”

“Don’t interrupt me, I said!” Hermione insisted. “You were nice to me, but then, right when I thought I had you right, you’d go and be this…this prat. You’d mock me, you’d ridicule the things I cared about, you’d contradict me, but you know what’s sickening? It didn’t matter. I liked you anyway. I let you be as foul to me as you wanted, and I’d be foul back, and I was fine with that. It was even rather fun sometimes, because I knew it wasn’t serious. When it came down to it, I had this stupid, naïve idea that you’d really be there for me if I needed you. Like when you spit out slugs for me or when you helped me after Malfoy hexed my teeth. I believed you’d always be like that; I truly did. So I was there for you if you needed me. I helped you with your work, I helped you feel good about yourself when every other person was knocking you down in Quidditch, I listened to you when you were upset about Harry in fourth year, I helped you feel better about Percy…I was there for you!

“So what thanks did I get? After trying and trying with you, I got you to agree to go to Slughorn’s party with me, only to watch you get mad at me for no reason at all and then snog Lavender Brown right in front of my face!” The lump in Hermione’s throat won over, as sobs escaped through her mouth. She felt herself shake, releasing the hurt she’d felt for months, for years. It felt liberating and miserable all at the same time.

“Hermione…” Ron reached to touch her and she backed away.

“I had to watch you shove her in my face every moment. She wasn’t the one who helped you all those years! She wasn’t the one who cared to see you happy all that time! She was just there, right? She was just easy to get, right? Well, believe it or not, Ron, I would have been easy to get, too! All you had to do was show me the slightest bit of, I don’t know, courtesy! All you had to do was treat me like a person; talk to me if you had a problem with something I did, but, no, you couldn’t do that! You’d rather snog Lavender Brown instead!”

“You know that I wouldn’t. You know that’s not true…”

“Oh, do I?” Hermione said, her swollen eyes glaring at him dangerously. “You made it oh so very obvious. That’s what kills me, Ron. You expect me to forgive you, to be good to you, to believe that you care about me, and look at what you do! For someone so jealous of Viktor, you’d think you’d have taken a few pointers from him!”

“From Vicky? That’s…”

“Vicky always treated me with respect, I’ll have you know! He held doors for me and pushed in seats for me. He treated me like a lady, not like some dispensable dish rag! But, you know what? Idiot that I am, I never wanted him. I had an international Quidditch star interested in me; one who treated me like a queen, and I didn’t want him. I wanted you, you stupid prat!”

There was a pause as Hermione’s last words seemed to echo in the distance. Ron’s face expressed a mixture of surprise, flattery and guilt. He reached again to touch her, only this time, she didn’t pull away. She allowed his large hands to place themselves over hers, but she didn’t move. Her tears fell in large drops over Ron’s hands as he did nothing but touch them and look at her. All she could do was continue.

“I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is. You’re just…an annoying, an insufferable brat though you sometimes are, I’ve always wanted you to just do a fraction of what Viktor did for me. You couldn’t do that. Not for me. You could for her, though. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Hermione, I’m so sorry…”

“Of course you don’t,” Hermione continued, ignoring his apology. “Because, unlike you, I didn’t flaunt Viktor Krum every chance I got. It was you who constantly chose to bring him up. It wasn’t me. And then, I don’t know, this summer, I had a feeling that things were changing. That I was finally becoming to you what Lavender was. I thought you really…that you, I don’t know, felt the way I did…”

“I do, Hermione.”

“No, you can’t!” Hermione shouted, shifting her hand away from Ron. “You couldn’t possibly, because if you did, locket or not, you would have kept your promise to me! You wouldn’t have just left me – left us both – like that! How could you have done that, Ron? How can I ever trust you after that?”

At that, Hermione buried her face in her hands and sobbed. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She couldn’t believe that she’d just come out and told him all of that. She must have been absolutely mental.

Then, in the midst of her outpouring of emotion, she felt his arms engulf her as he knelt beside her. She continued to cover her face; she would not return his embrace. He didn’t deserve it. Right now, he didn’t deserve her.

“Hermione, I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. “I know I’m a prat. I know I’ve messed up. I have. Over and over and over again. I shouldn’t have been like that to you. I know you don’t believe me, but I will never, ever hurt you like that again. I…”

“You promise?” Hermione asked, still not looking at him. “Sorry to tell you, Ron, but that doesn’t seem to be worth a whole lot these days.”

“You’re right,” Ron replied, still holding her. She may have been imagining it, but she thought she heard his voice quivering, too, almost as though he was about to cry right along with her. “I haven’t given you any reason to trust me. But, I swear, you will. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, pulling away from him and standing up to walk a few feet away. “I’d like to believe you, Ron. I truly would. I just find it a little hard to do that right now. We can’t go back to where we were.”

“Where was that?” Ron asked, his voice a little hopeful.

Hermione could have laughed it was so ridiculous. She had no idea how to answer that question. Where were they? They weren’t ever dating, that was for sure. She wasn’t his girlfriend. They weren’t even close…or were they?

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, shrugging. “Just…the way we were. It’ll just take a while, that’s all.”

“I’ll wait,” Ron said, walking closer to her. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to trust me again. You can take as long as you like. I won’t push it anymore.”

He really was maddening.

As furious as Hermione was with him, she couldn’t help but appreciate his understanding, his willingness to accept her anger, his decision not to argue her opinion. It was almost as if he was already starting to change; already starting to take up the challenge of doing a bit more growing up on her behalf. She wiped the tears from her face and gave him a little smile.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Ron said, returning the smile, although his blue eyes did seem to be a bit wet as well. “And, well, I know you won’t believe me, but, just for the record, she never was anything to me like you are. Lavender. It may not have seemed like it, because I am quite possibly the biggest git on the planet, but you’ve always been more to me than she has. Always.”

Ron was right; Hermione didn’t know if she could believe him. And, yet, there was a degree of sincerity in his face that she couldn’t ignore.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. Ron nodded and started heading back in the direction of the tent, when Hermione felt the need to stop him.

Something else needed to be said…

“Ron!”

Ron turned around and looked at her eagerly.

“I know…I know we’re not in the most perfect place now, but I’m really, really glad that you came back.”

Ron smiled at her, looking like he never felt more relieved in his life.

“I’m glad I did, too.”

With that, Ron turned back into the tent, leaving Hermione to continue her watch.

She had just basically come out and told Ron that she had feelings for him for years. What would this mean now? Would he be different around her? Did he have feelings for her, too?

“I do, Hermione.”

His words echoed in her mind as she pondered how sincere they truly were. Did he really have feelings for her like she did for him? If he did, why did he leave? What would have possessed him to do that?

And, yet, Hermione knew that, no matter how angry she got, no matter how many times she had a row with Ron, that she would always come back for him if he needed her. Messing up and making mistakes was just part of the ride. Now that she’d released her steam, now, perhaps, things could start to go back to the way that they were. Maybe once everything was back to normal, they’d figure this out, whatever it was.


	10. A Source of Comfort

Author’s Note: This chapter was quite difficult. First off, the whole timing dimension was a bit confusing (how long Ron was with Hermione before he went out with Harry, for instance). This was also difficult because it’s been done so many times in so many ways. While I stuck to a traditional beginning (because any R/Hr fan wants to see Ron care for Hermione), I also wanted to add something new. Specifically, while reading DH for the first time and each of the zillion times I reread it, I always found Harry’s observation that Ron and Hermione seemed oddly relieved to join him in his discussion with Ollivander and Griphook interesting. I figured they wanted to help, but I always guessed there was more to this relief than that. Or, well, that it would be interesting. I hope you like it.

________________________________________________________________________

 

Rule # 7

Show her Affection Whenever Possible, No Matter Who Else is Around

 

There are two things that girls hate more than anything else in the world. The first is being called fat. The second is being ignored.

 

Maybe you’re intimidated to swoon over your witch around family or friends. A degree of respect makes sense. For instance, you don’t want to snog your girl silly in front of her father. That would certainly make for a most uncomfortable situation.

 

However, snogging is only one way of showing her affection. There are many others, some of which you can and should show around the people she loves.

 

For one, you are showing a girl affection when you tend to her. You can do this by very simply giving her sweet looks, checking to see if she wants anything if you’re about to go help yourself to a butterbeer, placing an arm around her occasionally, giving her hand a squeeze or rubbing her shoulders a bit. Show her that it matters immensely that she’s there. Parents certainly don’t resent a bit of hand holding (most of the time; it’s best to find out about this in advance), and they will likely appreciate if you show that you are attentive to their daughter’s needs.

 

Do not ease off of your witch simply because another person has entered the room. Granted, you may choose to stop your snog fest if her sister walks in. However, if you have an arm around her or you’re giving her a tender look, don’t feel like you have to stop because your best mate just walked in or because your dad’s down the hall. This makes a witch feel as though you only want to be affectionate with her when nobody else is around to see it; it makes it seem as though your relationship is something to hide.

 

Just be polite about it, that’s all. Consider what’s appropriate given the company that you’re in and the state that she’s in. If she’s troubled or upset, you’ll have an added incentive to be extra affectionate with her. There will be times where she will need your arm around her and your hand to hold. Don’t withdraw it just because other people are around. She appreciates having it there.

________________________________________________________________________

Hermione was safe.

She would be fine.

That was all that Ron could think of. That was all he cared about.

He sat, transfixed, watching her chest slowly rise and fall as she was steadily breathing in and out, her head resting against Fleur’s pillow. He was eternally grateful for the fact that she looked peaceful and relaxed, yet, couldn’t help but wonder what horrific thoughts may secretly be plaguing her mind. She hadn’t come to since it happened.

He wondered if those thoughts would be any match for his.

Ron knew that he wouldn’t soon forget the past hour for the rest of his life. Anger infested every inch of his skin as he thought of what he wanted to do to Bellatrix Lestrange at this very moment; at every second that he heard Hermione’s screams rip through him.

It all happened so fast, and, yet, the details dragged in his mind endlessly; they wouldn’t rest. All he could think – all he could remember – was that Hermione was screaming and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. That horrific sound of her pain, of her hurt and fear, would ring in his mind for as long as he lived.

She may have been the one Bellatrix chose to question, but she most certainly was not the only one forced to suffer. He knew that for certain.

He had to stand idly by and listen to her being violently tortured, wishing beyond anything that he could run up and kill her attacker with his bare hands. He remembered bits of Harry and Luna speaking, but all of that seemed to exist a thousand miles away from him at the time. All that mattered was getting her out of there. All that mattered was making sure that whoever was hurting her would stop.

But Bellatrix didn’t stop. Hermione’s screaming was relentless; her pain never ending. Ron shouted for her helplessly, as though that would do the slightest bit of good. He knew it wouldn’t.

Why hadn’t they taken him instead?

Images haunted his mind. He thought of her shaking and struggling on the floor, which he hadn’t seen, but could envision with a horrifying degree of realism. He thought of the look on Greyback’s face as he contemplated getting his filthy hands and nauseating teeth on her. He imagined what would have happened to her if Greyback had succeeded…

No. He didn’t want to imagine that.

He remembered the sight of Bellatrix – of that horrible, miserable monster, pressing a blade to Hermione’s throat, and how he and Harry watched in mind-numbing fear as drops of blood fell steadily down against the pale peach color of her skin.

He remembered his heart practically stopping as he watched the chandelier fall in what seemed like slow motion, wondering if she would get trapped beneath it, and fearing if she was even well enough to realize it.

He knew she wasn’t.

When he ran to gather her, she hung limp like a completely dead weight in his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her as he Apparated to Shell Cottage; he was too afraid of what he would see.

And, then, like he’d done dozens of times already in the past twenty-five minutes, Ron’s mind once again wandered back to the most horrifying image of all.

He had Apparated back to Shell Cottage, the salty scent of the waves below engulfing him completely, as he gently placed Hermione down on the ground in front of him. Fearful that his state of nervousness and exhaustion would inhibit his ability to make it to the house without a rest, he decided to stop a moment before bringing her inside.

He remembered, even in the dark of the evening, being able to clearly see the state she was in.

This was not his Hermione.

This was not the way she was supposed to look.

He saw the cuts that covered her face and arms, the blood still dripping out of the small slit in her throat, and the bruises on her arms and tears in her clothes. He looked at the pain and exhaustion all over her face and body; at the lifelessness of her. He’d never seen her like that before, and hoped beyond anything that he would never have to again.

Gathering back his strength, he lifted her back into his arms, calling for Bill and Fleur. They had come running out, followed by Dean and Luna, and immediately asked what had happened. However, much to Ron’s gratitude, they didn’t press for further information at Ron’s reluctance to tell them anything. Upon seeing that Hermione would likely be okay, Luna and Dean went back inside. Bill went off to tend to the others, and Fleur directed Ron and Hermione to a spare bedroom before going to get the proper materials to treat her.

Ron lay her down gently on the bed, watching her to see if she was waking. How much had she remembered? How would she feel when she woke up? Would she still be in pain as she awoke?

In the distance, he heard a pop. Despite his reluctance, he stepped away from Hermione’s side to look out the window. Harry was there; he seemed to be okay. Griphook was with him a few feet away. But Dobby…what was the matter with Dobby? He didn’t look right.

He saw the others gather around the scene; around Dobby. What was going on? Had Dobby made it? He would have gone down to check, but something in him told himself not to leave Hermione’s side. What if she woke up alone in the room? He abandoned her once; he would not abandon her again. He had promised.

Fleur had come in quickly to cast a few enchantments on Hermione that would alleviate her pain before going out to check on Harry. Then, she gave Ron Essence of Dittany, directing him to nurse Hermione’s wounds while she went to treat the others, who, like Hermione, were all right, but needed to have a few injuries mended. Ron took the bottle and gently rubbed the Essence of Dittany on Hermione’s many cuts and scrapes, and watched as they started to heal. As he did, he watched her face curiously to see if she would flinch or move.

The last wound he touched was the slit on her throat. As he rubbed his fingers gently against it, he felt hurt and anger on her behalf beyond anything he could have ever imagined. If she had gone further…if she had pressed the blade deeper…

Again, he couldn’t think of that.

When Ron had gotten to all of the wounds that he could, he sat back and watched her cautiously, which brought him to his current position.

He had watched her for about ten minutes so far. Every so often he’d hear a soft whimper escape from her lips, but no more than that. He wished she would wake up so that she would know she was safe.

Moments later, Ron heard a soft knock on the door. Ron saw Bill in the doorway. His eyes still on Hermione, Ron walked towards him.

“Ron, the house elf…Dobby. I’m really sorry to tell you this, but he didn’t make it.”

“What?” Ron asked, a heavy weight seeming to settle uncomfortably in his stomach. How could that be?

“He was stabbed right before he and Harry Apparated back.”

Lestrange.

It had to have been her.

If she was in front of him right now…

“Harry’s pretty upset; I think he needs to be on his own for a while. He’s gotten started on digging a place for us to…to bury him.”

To bury him.

This was way too much to take.

“Digging? You mean he’s doing it by hand?”

“He insisted on doing it the Muggle way. I guess he figured Dobby was worth the work. I reckon he’s right, because all Luna and Dean seem to be able to tell me is that he helped you all get out.”

“Well, if Harry’s digging by hand, doesn’t he need help?”

“I’m sure he does. But I have a feeling that he needs to at least start this out on his own. Ron, really, what the hell happened? What’s all this about?”

“I’m telling you, Bill, we really can’t discuss it,” Ron said, gazing at Hermione and silently cursing Bellatrix for having killed the elf that saved her.

“All right, then, could you at least tell me what’s happened to Hermione? It looks like she’s been tortured. What have you three been doing?”

“It’s for Dumbledore, Bill. I really can’t talk about it.”

Bill, in his patient state, tried not to look defeated or annoyed, but Ron could understand if he was. It had been a trying day.

“All right, Ron. But, if you decide to change your mind, you know neither Fleur nor I will say anything.”

“I know,” Ron said, walking close to Hermione again. He placed his hand over hers again, as Bill drew nearer.

He realized, clasping her hand tightly, that, for the first time ever, he didn’t feel the slightest bit bashful showing Hermione this affection in front of his brother. It was as if it wouldn’t matter who was there; he just needed to feel her, to hold her, to know that he could because she was serenely sitting right beside him.

“She’ll be fine,” Bill told Ron. “She’s a strong girl.”

“Yeah, she is,” Ron said proudly as his thumb gently rubbed her palm.

“Well, I’ll be inside with the others. Fleur should be back in a bit, and then you and Dean can go out and help Harry.”

“Right,” Ron said, his eyes still on Hermione as Bill retreated from the room.

He turned to her, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to all of this. He silently prayed that, wherever Dobby was, he was happy. He was the reason she was beside him. He was the reason they all had made it through. Ron owed Dobby an immense debt, not just for himself, but for allowing Hermione to survive the horrific evening they’d all had.

Then, after perhaps another twenty minutes of calmly just watching her steadily breathe, he saw her blink. Her eyes opened, taking in her surroundings. She seemed to be completely disoriented, looking around the room in exhaustion and confusion.

“Hermione,” Ron said softly, moving his hand to gently caress her face. “You’re all right, Hermione.”

“Ron?” Hermione weakly asked, seemingly confused about her whereabouts. “Ron, where…?”

“We’re at Bill and Fleur’s,” Ron said. “We arrived a while ago. Harry, Bill, Luna, Dean, Griphook and Ollivander are here as well.”

She blinked a few times, her body’s soreness still evident in the expression on her face.

“How are you feeling?” Ron asked. Hermione, however, didn’t seem interested in focusing on this, but went back to considering the others.

“Harry…he’s all right?”

“He’s fine,” Ron replied. “He was brilliant. You were brilliant.”

Hermione looked all around the room; then at Ron, almost as if she was questioning if it was all real and she had really survived.

“Bellatrix…”

“Don’t talk about her,” Ron said, holding Hermione’s hand tightly, fearing that he may throw something if he had to think of that woman again. “You need to rest; it’ll only get you upset.”

“Did someone…is she…”

“Not yet,” Ron said gruffly. “Unfortunately. If I ever get the chance to get my hands on her, though, you can be sure that she won’t be around much longer. After what she did to you, that foul…”

“Ron, you’re squeezing my hand!”

“Sorry!” Ron said, not realizing how tightly he was holding Hermione. His anger had completely gotten the best of him. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?”

“After everything else, I think I’ll survive,” Hermione replied with a bit of a grin. It seemed to take all of her energy to even smile, but he was glad to see her make the effort. “Ron, what happened after…I mean, I only remember up to a certain point, and then…”

Ron felt a lump rise in his throat, for he was about to mention…

“Dobby. He was brilliant. He came to help us.”

“Dobby?” Hermione asked, her eyes glowing. Ron suddenly felt a sense of overwhelming guilt. How could he excite her about Dobby’s role in this only to let her know that he didn’t survive it?

“Yes. He came and got Luna, Dean and the others back here. And then he came back right when…” Ron’s voice drifted off; should he tell Hermione about this? Would it make her even more uneasy than she was now?

He supposed he may as well; she would see the cut on her throat sooner or later…

He told her about how Wormtail had come in after Dobby Apparated away; how he had been strangled by his own silver hand. He talked about how Bellatrix had finished questioning her and how he and Harry had come in before Greyback could take her. He saw her close her eyes in discomfort as he mentioned that Bellatrix had a knife to her throat when Dobby had come in, and that the chandelier had fallen on the floor right by where she was dropped. Then, holding in his own emotions with as much self-control as he could muster, he told her what happened to Dobby; how he bravely saved everyone at the cost of his own life. He saw tears starting to form in her eyes.

“I know. It’s horrible,” Ron said, trying to prevent the tears from forming in his own eyes as well. “But Dobby d-…he went the way that he lived. He left us taking care of us, serving us, but in his own way and using his own free will. He was a hero, Hermione.”

“I know,” Hermione said, tears falling down her eyes. “It’s just…it’s so horrible. He should be the one here now. He should be with us.”

“He will be,” Ron assured her, holding her frail hands in his own. “If we follow in his influence, and keep fighting for what’s good, he’ll be with us.”

“You’re right,” Hermione said, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked at Ron and shook her head. “It’s just…I can’t believe he’s gone, and that we survived all that. Ron, I thought…I mean, when they took you away…I…I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

“I know,” Ron said, “I did, too. But we’ve just got to forget about that and consider ourselves lucky. We’re here. We made it.”

At that moment, Fleur came in. Ron’s hand continued to rest firmly on Hermione’s.

“’Ermione, you are awake!” Fleur said, hurrying over to her. “’Ow are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione muttered, although Ron knew she didn’t seem to be fine. Judging from the sound of her voice and the expression on her face throughout their interaction, she seemed to still be in a good deal of pain. Just like Hermione, though, she wouldn’t show it; she’d master her ability to show strength much in the way she’d master a difficult exam.

“Good,” Fleur replied, unconvinced. “You seemply must get out of those clothes. I will ‘ave you change into my dressing gown.”

Fleur looked at Ron, almost as if hoping to cue him without words that it was time for him to leave.

“’Arry could use some help, Ron,” Fleur said. Ron turned to Hermione, saw the pain still evident in her face and, even in front of Fleur, felt no hesitation in offering her one last bit of comfort before he left.

He leaned closer to her, and very gently kissed her on the forehead, his hand still rubbing hers.

“I’ll be back,” he said to her.

“You won’t have to be. I’ll…I’ll be out soon, too.”

“You need to rest!” Ron insisted.

“’e eez right, ‘Ermione,” Fleur agreed, drawing closer to the pair of them. “You ‘ave been through somezing terrible!”

“I appreciate your concern,” Hermione replied, tears stinging her eyes. “But…Ron, Fleur, he died for us. I can make it outside. Just…just to pay him some respect. He’s deserves it.”

Nobody argued this, for they both knew Hermione was right. Despite his own feelings of mourning and sadness, Ron gave her one last smile, and squeezed her hand a final time.

“I see you’re feeling better already. It didn’t take you long to get your stubbornness back.”

“Ho, ho,” Hermione softly replied, returning Ron’s smile.

“I’ll see you in a bit, then,” Ron said. With that, he went outside to help Harry dig.

________________________________________________________________________

“Honestly, Ron, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. I don’t know why you’re so bloody proud, Hermione. Just let me help you.”

After their small service for Dobby, Ron guided Hermione slowly back into the house. Despite the fact that she remained pale and unsteady, she demanded that she was perfectly fine. That was just what Ron needed on his conscience; Hermione dizzily falling to the floor and worsening her condition in any way.

The two passed by the living room, where Dean and Luna were sitting. They had taken a spot on one of the couches, Ron’s arm around Hermione and hers now around him. Even though Ron was no longer supporting her, neither felt the desire to let go of the other.

As Bill entered the room, Ron let his hand slowly slide up and down Hermione’s arm. It seemed to relax her a bit, which was Ron’s main objective at this point in time. He knew how much Dobby’s service must have upset her.

Bill told everyone about what had happened to the Weasleys. Much to Ron’s relief, his parents and siblings were all safely hidden. He didn’t know how to thank Bill enough. Before he had gotten a chance, however, Harry had entered and, after being certain that the Weasleys were protected, demanded to see Ollivander and Griphook. He and Bill retreated out of the room.

As Luna and Dean began speaking to each other to avoid interfering in the conversation, Hermione leaned in closer to Ron and whispered in his ear.

“Ron, can we step away a bit? I need to talk to you.” Ron helped her up, and the two walked alongside the doorway of the sitting room, hidden a bit in the shadows of their surroundings. Before they sat, Hermione’s brown eyes gazed at Ron in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked him. Ron sat, still holding Hermione, and they ended up in a position in which they were so close together that she was practically on his lap. He leaned against the wall, and she leaned into him, facing him in concern as she spoke.

“I should be asking you the same question,” Ron said, placing his arm gently on Hermione’s waist.

“I told you, Ron, I’m fine. Naturally, I’m a bit sore. I’ll heal, though. What about you? I know how you worry about your family.”

“Yes, but I trust Bill,” Ron assured her. “If he says they’re protected, I’m sure that they are.”

At that, Hermione leaned her head into Ron’s shoulder, allowing herself to relax on him. He didn’t know if it was due to her soreness or her desire to be closer to him, but, in either case, he was glad she took the initiative to let him comfort her more.

“I just feel so awful,” Hermione continued. “Harry. He must be so upset. He and Dobby were close.”

“Harry’s upset, yeah,” Ron said. “But he’s strong. He’s dealt with a lot in his life. You know that.”

“All the same,” Hermione continued. “He must be so tired. I can’t imagine the last time he’s stopped.”

“He’s Harry,” Ron said. “And we’re not much better. Look at you! You’re just been tortured and you’re parading around telling everyone you’re fine.”

“I am,” Hermione insisted, giving Ron a playful shove before he placed his arm more tightly around her and grinned.

“They broke the mold with you, Hermione, I swear. Mental, you are.”

“Hark who’s talking,” Hermione retorted. She looked up and gazed across the room, and Dean and Luna who were glancing at the two of them. They noticed her attention, and Dean glanced away really quickly. Luna, however, smiled serenely at them in her typical manner, as though she had made a discovery as captivating as the Crumpled-Horn Snorkack.

“We have an audience,” Hermione whispered, starting to shift away from him. Ron, however, pulled her back to where she was.

“So? What are we doing wrong?” Hermione blushed, either at the prospect that she’d have to confess to drawing closer to him on purpose, or due to the flattery she felt that Ron pulled her back; whichever reason, Ron was just glad she didn’t shift away again.

“Maybe they think it’s weird,” Hermione said. “You know…me being so close to you like this right after Dobby’s service.”

“All right, first off, you’re saying that Luna Lovegood thinks we’re weird. Think about that for a minute.” He looked down and saw Hermione smile, then felt safe to continue. “Besides, what’s the big deal? If we can’t be close now, when things are messy, when can we be?”

“At a more appropriate time.”

“Appropriate? It’s inappropriate for you to lean on me when you’re upset and hurt?”

“It’s just…you know what I mean.” Hermione gave Ron a secretive look and lowered her voice. “You and me…we’re not usually like this.”

“All right, then, shall you rip my head off like usual? Maybe then they won’t be so suspicious.” Ron breathed easier as he watched Hermione smile. She may have been through Hell and back, but she was well enough to be back to her usual self, and that was all that mattered. He then turned his eyes to Dean, who was back to looking at the two of them. Again, Dean noticed his attention, then turned back to Luna. Meanwhile, Luna never turned away from them, and was still smiling in the way that she was before.

“You’re right,” Ron said. “But, honestly, Hermione, maybe they’re just wondering what we’ve been doing. I mean, you stare at Harry like that when you’re concerned about him.”

“True,” Hermione said. “I just wish we were with him now instead of pondering Dean and Luna’s looks. I mean, maybe he…”

“I need you two as well!” Hermione and Ron exchanged a relieved look, and hurried up to join Harry. As they walked, Ron leaned in close to Hermione’s ear.

“That’s timing for you.”

He smiled inwardly as Harry complimented Hermione on her amazing strength at Malfoy Manor. Ron took such tremendous pride in her; in knowing her, in loving her, in having her feel safe to hold him and lean on him. He needed her in more ways than she could imagine. If it was obvious to Luna, he was hoping it wouldn’t be so difficult to tell her so.

And he had to.

She was nearly taken from him once. He would not be in that position again if he could help it. She would know how he felt. He’d be sure of that.


	11. With Wine Comes Courage

Rule # 2

 

Let Her Know How You Feel About Her

 

By now you know that girls expect you to listen. At the same time, they hope to listen to you. They’re eager to hear all sorts of things from you. The problem is, we blokes aren’t used to saying the sorts of things that witches want to hear. We’re used to common sense; simply feeling like what’s obvious is obvious.

 

Perhaps it is. Perhaps girls know very well what your intentions are. However, whether or not they know it, they mask their keen perception with false ignorance. They will play dumb, simply because they want to hear the words out of your mouth.

 

How do you feel about her?

 

Then comes the scariest part of all – you’ll have to ask yourself that question.

 

So be honest with yourself.

 

How do you feel about her, anyway?

 

The best thing that you can do is to avoid flattery in any way. Girls take feelings very seriously. If you’re about to go out on a limb and tell her that you love her, you’d better mean it. If you don’t, don’t say it just to get her excited. She’ll believe you. She’ll quote you on it. She’ll tell her mother, relatives, friends and anyone else who listens. That means that if you don’t mean what you say and you later prove this through your actions, all those people will hold you to it.

 

Don’t put yourself in that place.

 

If you don’t love her, perhaps you can focus on what you particularly like about her. Do you simply enjoy her company for the time being? Are you happy getting to know her better? Do you feel comfortable spending time with her? These are all possibilities. They’re all flattering to hear, and none of them promise anything deeper than a few dates in the future.

 

However, if you do love her, and you really mean it, don’t just assume that she knows.

 

She does, but she’ll play it off like she doesn’t.

 

She’ll claim she won’t know unless you tell her.

 

Tell her.

 

The worst that could happen is that she doesn’t love you back. That may seem like a nightmare and a half, but if you’re with one of those rare witches that won’t allow you to express your feelings, than, perhaps, you’re better off without her. If you’re with a witch who respects your feelings but doesn’t feel the same yet, that’s okay, too. Pat yourself on the back for choosing a girl who is honest.

 

Then, somewhere in the middle, there is that amazing possibility that you will tell her how you feel and she will feel exactly the same way. It’s in that positively rare moment that you’ll realize you don’t need my book here anymore, because everything has fallen into place.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

Hermione gazed out into the blackness of the sea surrounding Shell Cottage, allowing herself to be comforted by the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore beneath her. She loved this place; loved the peace that it had brought to her after, perhaps, the most stressful hour of her life. She loved that, while she and Ron were here, despite being constantly busy in dealings with Harry and Griphook, that the entire argument they had prior to the incident at Malfoy Manor seemed to be forgotten. They were acting much like they were after Ron had been poisoned the previous year; it was almost as if that distant squabble had never existed.

The wind made goose bumps pop on the surface of Hermione’s skin, and she hugged herself, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of the breeze lightly whipping around her. The whole environment surrounding her was absolutely captivating. Or maybe it was the effect of the two glasses of wine she’d consumed. The small, spontaneous celebration given on behalf of Lupin and Tonks was a bright light burning in her mind amidst the dark few months she’d experienced.

A new person was entering the world.

A new, sweet, innocent person.

Hermione had hope, however fleeting, that this person would grow up in a world that was much more peaceful than it was now. That’s what she, Harry and Ron were fighting for, and Teddy would get it. If there was any incentive for engaging in the task that lay ahead of her the next day, that was it. She wouldn’t do it for herself, for Harry, or for Dumbledore - she’d do it for Teddy. She’d do it for Lupin and Tonks.

She’d do it for her own kids.

If she ever had any.

Through the chaos of schooling and facing the dangers of the Horcrux hunt, Hermione never took a moment to truly stop and think about the possibility that, in a few years, she may very well be married. She may be a mother. She couldn’t even imagine the responsibility; it was difficult enough taking care of herself these past few months. The thought of being solely responsible for a vulnerable young child was largely intimidating.

Yet, despite the fear that her realization brought her, she closed her eyes and pictured herself ten years later, married to Ron, with three young children running around. She could see it; she could most definitely see it. She’d spent half her life living with Ron and Harry; marriage to Ron couldn’t be that far off. Ron would do something silly and inappropriate, like teach the kids how to wrestle gnomes or something, and Hermione would pretend to be the disciplinarian while hiding in the house and giggling when nobody was looking.

It wasn’t too bad an image.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Almost as if reading her mind, Ron approached from behind her. She could tell from the thumping of his footsteps that it was him, for she knew the sound that well. She turned quickly and smiled at him, noticing, even in the darkness, how red the wine had made his cheeks. He smiled back and walked over to her, and they stood side by side watching the water crashing into the rocks below.

“I’ll miss this place,” Hermione said, realizing that, as far as Ron went, she didn’t even have to say hello anymore. A hello was implied. A hello would insinuate that, at some point, there was a goodbye.

There was never a goodbye.

Not with them.

“Me too,” Ron said, his eyes gazing out at the sea and the stars. “Bill did well for himself and Fleur.”

“Yes, he did,” Hermione agreed. “It’s lovely.”

“Wonder where I’ll be,” Ron said. “You know, when I’m Bill’s age. Now that I’m a Hogwarts dropout, I’m sure the possibilities will be endless. I’ll probably have some pathetic flat somewhere; I’ll still be wearing Fred and George’s old clothes.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. Just like Ron to tear himself down. “Hopefully we’ll get to go back and finish our schooling. Then you could become an Auror like you’ve always wanted.”

“If they’ll take me,” Ron mumbled.

“Don’t be silly; of course they will,” Hermione insisted, smiling at him. “You know you’ll be brilliant, Ron. You’re way too hard on yourself.”

He couldn’t respond to this, and Hermione realized that the reason for that was that he knew it was true. He was, most certainly, too hard on himself. He always was, even as a kid.

“I can’t believe Lupin and Tonks have a baby,” Ron muttered, in what Hermione assumed was an attempt to change the subject. Hermione smiled, the thought of Teddy Lupin bringing nothing but joy to her heart.

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

“In a scary sort of way, yeah,” Ron said. “I mean…just imagine, in a few years, that could be you, me, and Harry. Tonks isn’t that much older than we are, you know. Neither is Fleur, come to think of it.”

“No, they aren’t,” Hermione agreed, inwardly hoping that he had the same images in his head as she had in hers.

“Just makes me think,” Ron continued, in what Hermione perceived to be almost a nervous tone. “Makes me realize what I want.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, cursing herself for her own nerve. But, then again, he had brought it up.

“You.”

That simple, small, quick syllable had hit Hermione with such force that she felt it would knock her over into the water. After all of the affection Ron had shown her this week, all of the times he’d caressed her in some way, he hadn’t touched her like that. Not even close. And, yet, he stood there – not laying even a finger on her, and she felt as though she were being embraced more tightly than ever.

She didn’t even know what to say.

“Me?”

“You. But that’s nothing new, Hermione. You’re all I’ve wanted for years. Well, you and a chance to play for the Chudley Cannons, but we can’t have it all, can we?”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, and he did as well. Then, Ron reached for her hand, glancing at her quickly, before putting his eyes back on the water. Speechless, Hermione placed her hand in his. The two looked out to the waves crashing, letting the breeze caress their hair and faces and they soaked in the moment.

He started it.

She’d let him continue.

“Hermione, I know you’ll probably never forgive me,” Ron went on. “I wouldn’t blame you, either. But, honestly, walking out on you and Harry was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life. That whole business with Lavender was a close second. You were right; you never deserved any of that from me. I earned those canaries. I earned those punches you gave me. I deserve worse, actually. For what it’s worth, I don’t think I’ll forgive myself for either mistake.”

“Ron, don’t you think that’s a bit much?” Hermione asked, suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt as though she overreacted to everything.

“No, I don’t,” Ron said. “It’s about time I started earning you. It’s going to take a lot on my part, though. It would on anyone. You know…earning you…”

“I think you’ll manage,” Hermione said, smiling at him and squeezing his hand in her own.

“I’d better,” Ron said determinately. “My mind’s made up, Hermione.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes,” He continued, the fear made abundantly clear within him as the wine nudged him to speak his mind. “Because I’m promising myself.”

“What are you promising yourself?” Hermione asked. While the answer seemed almost obvious at this point, she still longed to hear it. They’d played guessing games with each other’s emotions since she’d known him, and it was about time that one of them was open.

“I’m promising myself to be good to you,” Ron continued, his hand shaking within her own. “I wasn’t, and I almost lost you. That day at Malfoy Manor was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“You’re not alone on that one,” Hermione quietly added, looking down at the rocks beneath her.

“No, it’s just…well, I don’t know how to say this, really, but, honestly, you can’t imagine what it’s like to hear what I heard unless you were in my place.”

“I have an idea,” Hermione insisted, now slightly annoyed at being belittled like that. “Having seen you poisoned and unconscious last year, getting knocked out during a chess game, watching Harry hurt all those times…”

“None could have been as bad,” Ron insisted. “The chess game, the poison – those were my doing. I put myself in those places. I ate the chocolates that got me to Slughorn in the first place and I chose to play chess. Nobody had to torture you like that. And…bloody hell, Hermione, I just can’t get the sound of your screams out of my mind. It’s maddening.”

“Well, that’s over,” Hermione said, hoping to end this direction of the conversation. Thinking about her own torture wasn’t exactly stimulating, particularly when it accompanied a worried Ron.

“Thank God,” Ron went on. “Because if I lost you…if I never got the chance to…”

“Chance to what?”

“Just…”

Ron looked out to the waves for inspiration, watching the innocent white splashing of the salty, foamy water beneath them. Hermione watched him eagerly, trying to read from his face what his expression could have possibly meant.

“I love you,” Ron quietly said, then turning to face her with a look of utmost sincerity in his eyes. “That may sound very…I don’t know, typical of a bloke to say, but it’s true. I really do love you, Hermione. So much.”

Hermione felt a tug in her throat.

Her eyes moistened; her pulse raced…

Ron loved her.

This time, he wasn’t just saying this to flatter her because she helped him to fix his homework. This time, she didn’t have to fear that Lavender would hear him saying it. He truly did love her. She took one look into his beat red face, and she could tell he was being honest. She knew.

“You don’t have to…you know, love me back,” Ron said, suddenly sounding nervous, as though he had made a horrible mistake. “I mean, I don’t expect…I don’t deserve…”

“I do,” Hermione muttered, turning him away from the water and facing him. “I do love you, Ron. I mean…would I still be here if I didn’t?”

Ron’s eyes gazed into Hermione’s, full of hope and gratitude. They searched her a moment; he looked at every solitary inch of her face, it seemed. Then, she felt his arms wrap tightly around her, as he held her against him, swaying on the spot.

“You love me,” Ron said, almost as though he needed to hear it as well.

“I love you,” Hermione replied, holding on to him tightly as she nuzzled her face deeply into the comfortable spot between his shoulder and his chest.

“You really do?”

“Of course!” Hermione exclaimed as she stepped back, giggling at how utterly silly it sounded. “Why would I lie about that?”

“It’s just…blimey, I never thought you’d actually…you know, with all I’ve done…”

“Yes, well, I haven’t been the easiest person in the world to deal with, either,” Hermione confessed, remembering the canaries she cast on him the year before. “I’ve given you my fair share of trouble, haven’t I?”

“You? Trouble? Never…” Ron laughed at his own sarcasm, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile along with him.

“Ronald Weasley, it sounds like you’re not entirely serious about that.”

“Oh, well, of course I am. Who could imagine Hermione Granger getting into trouble? Suggesting secretly stealing ingredients out of Snape’s cabinets to make polyjuice potion, smacking Malfoy, attacking me with canaries…”

“I get the idea,” Hermione cut in, relieved that both of them still managed to smile through it all.

“As a matter of fact, that’s what I love most about you,” Ron continued, still holding Hermione snugly in his arms. “You’re always surprising me, you are. Just when I think you’re the most brilliant witch on Earth, you go ahead and become even smarter. Just when I think you’re a stickler for the rules, you break a dozen. It’s like I said the other day; you’re completely mental.”

“Takes mental to know mental,” Hermione teased, enjoying the look of relaxation and contentment on Ron’s face, which she was sure would not continue on through the next morning.

It made her stop a moment…

The next morning.

They couldn’t possibly be intoxicated by this realization for the next few days. They had to keep a solid head on their shoulders. They had to keep themselves entirely focused on the task at hand; they couldn’t let their budding feelings distract them.

She had to say something.

“Ron?”

“Hm?” Ron asked, his face starting to turn more serious at the sound of his own name.

His face was so close.

His lips were inches away…

She could almost feel them.

No.

Not today.

“We’ve got to hold off,” she said, cursing herself inwardly. “You know that. I mean, I want more than anything to…to go off and know that I…that we…”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Ron asked, his smile widening.

“Which part?” Hermione asked nervously. “The holding off or the…”

“No, no, the other part.”

Hermione paused. What did he think she was saying?

“I don’t…”

“If we get out of this alive,” Ron continued, the emotional fire in his sky blue eyes penetrating through her own, “You’re saying that you and I…that we can be together?”

Together.

It was so odd to conceive of them going together in some sort of normal way, after their lives had transcended normal for months – maybe even years. They had transcended normal forever. People had had boyfriends and girlfriends, but only Hermione had Ron, and it seemed that was a relationship only the two of them could understand.

And what did he mean – if they got out of it alive?

Did he seriously think that she could possibly die now?

Now that she had him to look forward to?

“Yes,” Hermione said, returning his smile. “I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Ron softly agreed, making Hermione question whether or not she would abandon all reason and kiss him at that exact moment.

“But,” Hermione cut in, before things would get out of hand. “We can’t do this now. We have to be focused. We have to help Harry.”

“You’re right,” Ron said, sounding slightly disappointed but still smiling. “We do. Merlin knows that I need a clear head tomorrow. That’s certainly not happening if I get the chance to snog you here.”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed, as she watched his amused expression taunting her

Yet, she couldn’t help but agree…

“Well, you’d better get used to it!” Ron said. “Because, I’m sorry, but once we get out of this alive, you’re going to have to stop being so bloody bashful around me. You’ll be mine, after all.”

“Yours? And when did I agree to this? I merely said…”

“We’d go together. That means you’re mine, doesn’t it?” He asked, a victorious expression on his face.

“No; we’ve made no negotiations on ownership. It just means I’m foolish enough to put up with your rubbish.”

“Harsh,” Ron said, holding his heart in mock pain. “You’ve always put up with my rubbish.”

“Not without a fight,” Hermione said, moving her hand from her back to his waist and giving it a pinch. He flinched and grinned maliciously at her.

“When you least expect it…” he threatened.

“Ho, ho,” Hermione dryly replied. “I’m shaking, Ron.”

“You’d better,” Ron said, placing his arms around her even more tightly than before. “Because, trust me, if I can help it, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to get you back. I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione said. She reached up her hand and wiped her eye; in the overwhelming happy news of the evening, she’d manage to lose her head and become emotional and weepy again. She couldn’t believe she and Ron had reached this point at such an incredibly bad time.

“What’s the matter?” Ron asked, watching her carefully as she rubbed her tears away.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied. “I’m just…happy.”

“Perhaps. Maybe you’d just like to snog and you know we can’t do it now. Trust me, that thought makes me want to cry, too.” Hermione gave him a light shove as he giggled, and she smiled back at him.

“Honestly, Ron…”

“I know, I know,” Ron cut in. “I’ll stop. Just…please, stay close to me at Gringotts tomorrow. If anything…happens, I want you by me. If I have to hear you suffer where I can’t get to you again…”

“You won’t,” Hermione assured him. “And nothing will happen. We’ll stick to the plan and stay together, just like we said we would.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Ron promised, rubbing her back as he gazed softly at her. “Never again. This time, I mean it.”

She leaned in to him, holding him as tightly as he held her. They stayed there for a moment, embracing one another as they listened to the waves crash beneath them. The wind hummed a soothing song as Hermione’s bushy hair blew all around, catching bits of Ron’s face.

“I can’t wait,” Ron whispered to her, as her eyes closed dreamily at the sound of his voice. “I can’t wait until this is over and we can just…”

“I know. Me neither,” Hermione added, not wanting to jump ahead of herself. Ron was right; anything could happen. Counting their chickens before they were hatched would only make things worse. “Ron, we should go inside. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron grunted, reluctantly pulling himself away from her. “You’re right.” He gave her one last look, and then seemed to be thinking.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“I haven’t had too much wine, have I?” Ron asked. “I mean, you did just say you loved me, right?”

“Yes. But perhaps it’s because I’ve had too much wine. It can tend to make you say silly things.”

“Be that as it may,” Ron continued, trying to hide his smile. “It would really motivate me if you’d say it one more time.” She held his hand tightly and looked directly into his face.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ron said, squeezing her hand back. “Come on. Let’s get inside.”

As Ron led her inside, both couldn’t stop themselves from thinking. When would this be over? When could they have the chance to be together, the way they’d always wanted? They each went off to their separate beds, reflecting on their conversation and hoping for the future, as they drifted off to a peaceful sleep that would be their last in days.


	12. Transitions

Author’s Note: At this point of the story, I was tempted to add some details to the big kiss (perhaps the basilisk fang scene before), but, after much thought, I changed my mind. Why? I’ve decided that I don’t want to come close to touching the way it was done in canon or altering it in any way; I feel that Jo did it perfectly. Even adding details to the preceding scene, I feel, takes a bit away from the spontaneity and pure emotion felt by Hermione when she abruptly snogged Ron in the midst of battle. Rather, what I did want to focus on was what happened afterwards, because I’ve pondered that since my first reading of the DH. Obviously, with the kiss, their relationship has changed, but, with the loss of Fred and the end of the war, I’m sure that there were other things that stood in the way of allowing their relationship to progress in the way they would have liked. Thus, what I really thought was important was their second kiss; the one that wasn’t spontaneous, but, rather, was thought out, particularly at a time where I think it’ll take both Ron and Hermione a while to feel comfortable and safe just enjoying each other again. I always imagined that it would take them both a while to kiss properly in this way a second time. So here’s my take on it.

 

Oh, and, PS – as per the several inquiries I’ve received, there’s one more chapter after this. The intro + 12 ways = 13 chapters. That’ll be a bit into the future...not 19 years, though. You’ll see ;)

 

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Rule # 4

Respect Her Goals and Dreams, Even If They’re Different From Yours

 

One thing that all blokes should understand is this: you won’t understand every single thing your girl is passionate about.

 

When women are set on doing something, they will do it. Not only that, but they will feel very strongly about following through on it. Women are firm in their goals and dreams, whether those goals involve family, friends, work, or their own self-fulfillment. Sometimes you’ll get it; sometimes you won’t.

 

For instance, your witch would like to become a famous performer. You know the odds of that happening are slim to none. The wrong thing to do, however, is to be the force discouraging your girl from pursuing her dreams, no matter how unrealistic they may be. Ultimately, she will remember that it was you who told her she shouldn’t persist in one task or another. If she lives the rest of her life disappointed, she’ll have you to thank for it.

 

No, she won’t blame herself. She’ll blame you.

 

Or herself for listening to you, which may as well be blaming you.

 

Sometimes, our girls are more ambitious than we are. Men across the world have always hated that. We cling to the archaic notion that we have to be the more successful ones because we’re men. As a result, we tend to belittle the major achievements of girls (and if you don’t, mate, pat yourself on the back – you’re one of the good ones!).

 

So men do this – question why women pursue things, question their ability to do so successfully, or critique ambitions that aren’t identical to ours – and, yet, we wonder why we’re still single.

 

Women need you to respect their goals and dreams.

 

By “respect”, I don’t mean you have to like them. I simply mean you have to keep your two cents out of her decision unless it is seriously hurting her (see rule #12 about being on her side).

 

By “respect,” I mean this – you never do anything that would make your girl reluctant to tell you what she dreams of and hopes for. When she’s afraid to share her goals with you, it’s an indication that you haven’t respected her. Respect her. She’ll appreciate it.

 

________________________________________________________________________

 

It had been the longest week and a half of Ronald Weasley’s life.

He tried remembering the night he’d had with Hermione at Shell Cottage every time the weight of his responsibilities got to him.

He heard her “I love you” through it all.

He heard it in the silence that ensued between him and Hermione, as they knew, without speaking, that they couldn’t even begin to address what they began at Shell Cottage until things were sorted out – kiss or not.

Absolutely brilliant kiss or not…

He heard it through the arrangements made for Fred’s service, burial and reading of his will. He heard it every time he realized where he actually was, every time he reminded himself it wasn’t a dream. He heard it again as they attended Tonks and Lupin’s service; as Harry tearfully held Teddy and promised to be a good godfather to him, while Ginny, who, apparently, was going with Harry again, held her arms around him tightly. In spite of himself, jealousy tickled Ron; when did either of them get the courage to let their emotions show, even in the hardest of circumstances?

He heard it again when he was at the Burrow, once full of life and happiness, and observed how quiet it had become. He heard it when Hermione sat next to him, speechless, trying hard to comfort to him and not realizing how much she succeeded simply by being there. He heard it when he’d awake to the sounds of his mother’s wailing at night, and cries from just about every other voice in the house.

George’s was particularly hard to bear.

He heard it when he and Hermione left the Burrow to go fetch her parents and he observed the emotional wreck Hermione and her parents were at being reacquainted after a year of separation. He heard it as he watched Hermione sleeplessly undo all of the enchantments she’d cast, ensuring her parents could resume their practice, that their identities were back to normal and their debts were paid.

He heard it when the Grangers had offered their sincere condolences to him, apologizing for not having attended the service for Fred. How weird it was, to be offered condolences. He wasn’t even prepared to accept the reality that Fred had gone, and, yet, here they were, stating it as though it were indisputable truth. Of course, Ron knew that it was, but disputing the point made it seem further away from him.

He had never done more listening in his life.

Listening to a memory, no less.

Then, every so often, when he wasn’t in the midst of a burial, a funeral service, a tearful morning, afternoon or evening or an awkwardly quiet atmosphere, he’d remember the thing he least believed happened…

Hermione had kissed him.

It had only happened once, right in the midst of battle.

Since then, naturally, they were always together; they had promised that they would be and, by all technicalities, they were. Their only separation occurred during their rare few moments of sleep. During waking hours, they stood together as though already married; as though they had already experienced the youthful bliss of young love and, in their old, tired age, were simply content with one another’s company. That was true most of the time. Ron was simply too exhausted to even think about snogging Hermione again, particularly when there was so much else to think about…

…like Fred and George’s shop.

George needed help.

Bill and Charlie had their own responsibilities; they couldn’t handle it. Percy had just gotten involved with the now evolving Ministry, and his changed perspective was vital to ensuring its revolution. Ginny had to finish school; she’d had less education than he had and it was only fair that she catch up. Ron was the only one that could do it. He couldn’t live with himself if he went back to Hogwarts and left George hanging.

And, yet, Hermione had planned to go back to Hogwarts. Meanwhile, she, Ron and Harry had been given an opportunity to enter the Auror department at the Ministry free and clear of NEWTS after all that they had done. Harry had accepted the position, while Ron hadn’t and Hermione longed to go back to school to pursue her own interests.

How could he stop her from pursuing her dreams?

The book was right; he had to support her. Just because he had to put his plans on hold for a while did not mean that she should. She earned the right to do whatever she wanted; he couldn’t be selfish.

And, yet, as days passed, Ron became accustomed to being beside her. In fact, the thought of any separation longer than a few moments, particularly after losing so many people he loved, killed him.

But it would come before he knew it…

He and Hermione had stayed with the Grangers for a week before Ron realized he’d have to get back home soon to start helping George. Hermione agreed to meet him back at the Burrow a few days later.

Before she left, though, he needed her.

He needed one morning – one small frame of time – in her presence, to truly be with her, hold her, to kiss her again. He was starting to truly want to in ways he silenced for days.

The morning Ron had to leave, the Grangers had set off to work early, leaving Ron and Hermione truly alone for what would be the first time since they found the basilisk fangs. Although Ron did enjoy their company for a couple of days, and was very grateful to have had some time to get to know them properly and enjoy a few days with Hermione’s family, he was also glad that he had a chance to have this time with her on his own.

When Ron awoke, he knew that Hermione would be awake. She had gotten barely any sleep in the past week and a half, which made him feel completely uncomfortable. Sure enough, when he walked down to the living room, there she was, rearranging pictures and dusting.

“A bit early for that, eh?” Ron asked. Hermione jumped a little and then let out a sigh of relief.

“Honestly, Ron, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry. Did you sleep last night?”

“Yes,” Hermione quickly replied, turning back to the picture frame she was dusting.

“No, you didn’t,” Ron said, standing next to her and looking into her eyes. “Your eyes are bloodshot again.”

“I think I know whether I slept last night or not,” Hermione snapped, polishing the picture frame harder as she turned away from him. Ron placed his hands on the picture frame and placed it down.

“Hermione, I’m worried about you.”

Hermione glanced at him for a minute, and then let out a bit of a sarcastic chuckle.

“Me? What about you? I mean you…with Fr-…why would you waste your time worrying about me?”

“Because you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“I’m just trying to use my time wisely; just because some of us spend less time sleeping and more time…”

“Please, Hermione,” Ron said, holding up his hand in exasperation. “I really don’t have the energy to argue with you.”

He sat down on the sofa, cursing himself under his breath. He promised himself he’d be good to her. They had one good night and one amazing kiss, and because of life’s problems, he was forgetting that. He wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said before he could. “I didn’t mean to get so upset, Ron, it’s just…there’s just so much to do. I just feel bad stopping.”

“You can, though,” Ron said. “I mean, Fred…” Ron bit his lip, trying to get past the pain of thinking about Fred at the moment. “He wouldn’t have wanted us like this. He would have absolutely torn the mickey out of both of us.”

“You’re right,” Hermione agreed, joining him on the sofa.

“Well, yeah, but it is worse for me. Fred would have me on two counts.”

“What are those?” Hermione asked. Ron felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was harder to be completely honest with Hermione when he hadn’t consumed two huge glasses of wine before doing it.

“Well, first off, for being such a dreadfully boring git. Secondly, because I’ve only snogged you once after all this time.” Hermione blushed a bit, but smiled.

“You liked that kiss, then?”

“It was okay,” Ron joked. “You know, adequate.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“It certainly didn’t seem like you felt that way at the time.”

“Well,” Ron said, letting his hand run through her hair. “Maybe I just need another go at it. You know. To see if I’m wrong.” Hermione’s big brown eyes looked at him longingly. He placed his hand underneath her chin and angled her face up towards him. Slowly, he leaned over and kissed her softly.

He had forgotten how wonderful it felt; his lips on Hermione’s, just the way he had always wanted. The kiss deepened, as Ron’s hand moved slowly around Hermione’s slim waist, pulling her closer to him. Much to his dismay, she pulled away for a moment, but he was relieved to see it was only to kiss his jaw line softly.

She was killing him…

Ron took it upon himself to make up for the lapse of time that they hadn’t snogged properly by eagerly kissing her again, this time with a degree of urgency that would most certainly show her how wrong he was. He gently placed her onto his lap, eager to hold her as close to him as possible as he made it clear how much he loved snogging her. He had never known anything – anyone – to make him feel like this in his life.

Again, much to his disappointment, Hermione pulled away.

“Ron, we should…I mean, I don’t want to, trust me, I really don’t, but, well, this is my parent’s house, and…”

Bloody hell.

The Grangers had shown him tremendous hospitality; as much as it pained him to calm things down, he knew it was the respectful thing to do. Fred would have likely called it the daftest thing in the world to do, and Ron truly agreed, but he would respect their wishes.

“Right,” he said. “It’s just that I…you’re just a brilliant kisser.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, flushing scarlet. She sat alongside him and held his hand. “But, you know, we’ll have plenty of time for that. At Hogwarts, you know. I mean, you didn’t take the Auror post so, well, I assumed…I mean, I hoped…”

Ron’s face fell.

He’d never had the heart to tell her he wouldn’t be going back this year. He wouldn’t bring himself to admit it for his own sake, let alone to let her know they’d be separated for a year.

“What’s the matter?” Hermione asked, rubbing her hand through his red hair.

“Hermione…there’s something I have to tell you.”

Ron turned away from her and picked up a flower from a vase sitting on the small table before him. He had to focus his mind on anything but the disappointment in her face.

“I…I can’t go back to Hogwarts this year, either.”

There was a long awkward pause. Hermione’s hand stopped rubbing Ron’s hair and fell down into her own lap. He could feel his eyes on her; was afraid to imagine what they looked like.

“But…why?”

“George,” Ron muttered, looking down at the flower before him, which his anxious hands were dissecting with great urgency. “He’s alone at the shop; it’ll be too much for him. He’ll need me there to help him, Hermione. At least for the next two or three years or so; enough to get him confident enough to work on his own.”

“Ron,” Hermione softly said, placing her hand gently against his back. “That’s terribly loyal of you, Ron, but, I mean…would Fred have wanted…”

“No,” Ron said. “Fred wouldn’t have wanted me to give up my last year there or the chance to become an Auror. But I would have told him that I’d be doing it for far nobler reasons than why he appeared to be leaving Hogwarts. Joke shop or not, it looked like it was just trying to stick it to Umbridge.” He heard Hermione giggle.

It felt good to laugh about Fred instead of crying.

“That was rather funny, though,” she said.

“Yes,” Ron agreed, wishing he could join in her laughter at a time like this. “Fact is, Fred wouldn’t have wanted George to be as miserable as he is now, either. I think of him at that shop alone, just…thinking of Fred, every day, without anyone there to cover for him if he needs a moment and…Hermione, I just…”

At that, grief came pouring out of Ron in the way it hadn’t for weeks. His body shook as he sobbed openly, Hermione tightly holding him and allowing him to bury his tear-stained face in her shoulder. With every tearful heave of breath escaping from his lungs, Ron released each bit of sadness that he concealed from his family in all of his attempts to be strong. It felt good to let it go. Meanwhile, Hermione soothingly rubbed his back as he carried on, hearing the sound of his cries echoing throughout the living room. He was so used to holding everything in, he barely recognized the sound of his own grief.

“It’ll be all right, Ron,” Hermione softly said, gently kissing the top of his head. “It may take a while, but things will fall into place. You’ll see.”

“It’s just…he’s gone. Fred’s gone, Hermione. I wish that could sit in enough for me to miss him,” Ron said, his voice thick with tears. “It’s stupid, really, but, of all of us…I just never expected him to go.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said. “It’s not stupid, Ron. Fred and George, I mean, they’ve never gone by the rules, but we all knew how brilliant they were. If they weren’t, they couldn’t have opened that shop in the first place.”

It was odd.

Hermione was discussing the twins as if they had both died, and, yet, George was still there.

In a way, perhaps he had died, too. His identity had been intertwined with Fred’s for so long that it was hard to imagine him standing on his own.

“I know I’ll never be like Fred,” Ron said. “But, I don’t know, I figure…if I go help him in the shop, maybe he could think of how he and Fred used to have a go at me. Maybe it’ll cheer him up.”

“And you,” Hermione said. “Seeing George happy again, you know.” Ron nodded. It was silent for a moment. He lifted up his head and heard Hermione softly sigh as she lifted her hand up to his face and gently wiped the tears off of his cheeks with her thumb. It seemed that she was tearing up at the sight of him as well.

“I’ll stay with you,” Hermione offered.

He gazed at her in awe.

As much as he would have loved for her to do that, as much as he would have adored seeing her every single day, he knew how badly he’d feel about it. She had dreams of her own. He couldn’t stand in the way of them.

“No,” Ron insisted. “Hermione, you can’t.”

“Yes I can!” Hermione persisted, gazing passionately at Ron. “You told me you didn’t want me out of your sight. Well, I don’t want you out of mine!”

“Yes, but, Hermione, those were different circumstances. That’s when we didn’t know if we’d survive the day. That threat’s gone, Hermione. It’s safe again. I’ll know that if you’re at Hogwarts, you’re okay.”

“But I won’t know that you’re okay!” Hermione exclaimed, gripping his hand. “Do you really think I can concentrate on school when I’ll be worrying about you at the shop?”

“You’ll have to,” Ron said. “Hermione, listen to me. You and me…I’m serious about that. I’d like to be with you for…for a long time, and if I expect you to cater to me, that won’t happen. You’re a brilliant witch; you’ve got so much going for you. You can’t let go of it for me. I won’t…”

“Don’t even think of telling me you won’t let me, Ronald Weasley!” Hermione demanded, standing up.

“Just listen,” Ron said. “It’s enough…it’s enough missing Fred and worrying about George; I couldn’t stand feeling guilty about you sacrificing everything for me as well. If you really want to make me happy, if you really want to help me to get through this, you’ll carry on with your education. We’ll still be together. I’ll come and see you at Hogwarts as often as I can; every day, if I can! You can come to the shop on the weekends when you’re not studying and help us as well, if you like. I mean, I know you’ll be busy, but…”

“Not that busy. And I’m sure Harry and Ginny will help as well. If I agree to this,” Hermione cut in. “And I’ll agree to this on one condition.”

Ron raised his eyebrows, fearful of the condition a brilliant witch like Hermione could possibly think up.

“What?”

“You and your parents come with me and we talk to Kingsley. If, for family reasons, you can’t take the Auror post now, maybe we can convince them to allow you to have the option of entering training in a few years. It’s not as though you’re taking time off to sit on your bum and knit or something – you’re helping your family. In the spirit of its new vision, the Ministry should support the families that sacrificed everything. This way, once George is established, you can go into Auror training like you’ve always wanted without having to be the oldest student Hogwarts has ever seen three years from now.”

He gazed at her in utter admiration.

She was brilliant.

If this worked out – if Kingsley agreed to this – it would sort out all of his worries and fears. He’d be able to help George and think about the future with Hermione as well. He’d be able to pursue what he’d always wanted while being there for his family when they needed him.

“Hermione…do you really think…”

“If, after all this, the Ministry refuses to assist you in this manner, then they’re really not changing their tune, are they?” Hermione demanded. “Because, honestly, after what you’ve done, knowing Kingsley, I don’t know how they could say no.”

“Hermione, you’re…you’re just brilliant, you are.”

“I know,” Hermione said, still looking so determined that she barely realized how funny she sounded in proclaiming her own level of brilliance. “So, are we agreed?”

He took her hand in his and smiled.

“We’re agreed.”

“Good,” Hermione said, sitting next to him. “When I come to the Burrow in a week or so, I’ll speak to your mum.”

“A week,” Ron muttered, looking down at Hermione’s hand. He had almost forgotten that he’d be away from her for that long. “Merlin, I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too,” Hermione said, leaning her face in closer to his. She softly, sweetly gave him a light peck on the lips, followed by a second. He returned the gesture, kissing her gently back. She then placed both her arms around him, holding him tightly as she kissed him fully, moving her body so she returned back to his lap again. Before he could get carried away again, Ron felt himself pull away and could almost hear Fred yelling at him in his head.

“Hermione, but, you said…”

“Never mind,” Hermione muttered in the most un-Hermione way possible, and they continued snogging, enjoying as much time as they could lost in each other’s arms, hands, and lips. It would be a long while before they would get such a moment again, and, as both knew it, they carried on, holding each other and passionately kissing with all the energy they could muster.

It may have been the current state of intoxication he was in, but, in the far distance, Ron swore he could almost hear Fred cheering for him.


End file.
